£c  6 


THE    NORMAL    SERIES. 


WEBB'S 

NORMAL    HEADER 

No.  4, 

» •   •      *  •  •  « 

TO  TEACH  CORRECT  READING, 

TO 

IMPROVE  AND  EXPAND  THE  MIND, 

AND  TO 

PURITY  AND  ELEVATE  THE  CHARACTER. 


Maw  is  -what  HI  18, 

C AH  EI  WHAT  HI  WILL. 

BY  J.  RUSSELL  WEBB. 


NEW   YORK: 
SHELDON  &  COMPANY 

115    NASSAU    STEEET. 
1860. 


THE  NORMAL  SERIES 

or 

SCHOOL    READERS, 

J.  RUSSELL  WEBR 


In  presenting  to  the  public  *  new  series  of  reading  books,  it  is  not  pre- 
tended that  the  department  they  are  designed  to  occupy  in  teaching,  is 
not  already  abundantly  supplied.  There  are  books  enough,  and  more 
tbiii  enough,  iftiiey  neie  only  of  the  right  kind — instinct  with  new  ideas, 
and  improved  methods  of  instruction,  by  which  to  infuse  those  ideas  into 
the  minds  of  the  young.  In  general,  however,  they  follow  one  beaten 
track,  and  that  not  the  most  direct  and  easy.  This  series  proposes  and 
developes  a  new  system  of  instruction,  which,  it  is  believed,  possesses 
many  and  great  advantages.  It  has  been  proved  and  commended  by 
many  practical  teachers,  and  now  solicits  a  fair  and  faithful  trial  from  all 
who  would  attain  for  themselves,  or  impart  to  their  pupils,  the  most  im- 
portant, though  hitherto  the  most  neglected,  of  human  arts — the  art  of 
reading  well. 

THE  SERIES  CONSISTS  OP 

Webb's  Primary  Lessoxs* By  J.  Russell  Webb. 

Wi:bb's   PrIMKR   pub  the  Nursery By  J.  Jills  sell  Webb 

W ebb's  Normal  Primer  for  Schools.  .  .By  J.  Russell  Webb. 

Webh's  Normal  Header,  No.  1 By  J.  Russell    Webb. 

Webb's  Normal  Reader,  No.  2 By  J.  Russell   Webb. 

Webb's  Normal  Reader    No.  3 By  J.  Rm/mU  Webb. 

Webb's  Normal  Reader,  No.  4 By  J.  Russell   Webb. 

Webb's  Normal  Reader,  No.  5 By  J  Russell  Wt^b. 

*  A  series  of  huge  cards  to  be  used  iu  connection  with  No.  1,  where  the  classic 
lance. 

Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1850, 

By  J.  RUSSELL  WEBB, 

In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  United  Status  for  the  Southern 
District  of  New  York. 


EDUCATION  DEPT. 


INDEX 


Page 

Introduction •  5 

The  Five  Essentials  to  Good  Reading.  5 

Position  in  Reading 6 

Dictionary :  its  Importance  and  Use  in 

Schools 8 

Rules  for  Reading 12 

The  Nature  and  Object  of  Education  .  13 

The  Put  Lamb 16 

The  Value  of  Time 21 

A  Moment  of  Time 23 

Anecdote  of  Washington 24 

Dialogue  on  Physiognomy 26 

Deal  Gently  with  the  Erring 29 

The  Town  Pump 31 

Pleasure  is  Cheap 35 

The  Two  Brothers 36 

It  Snows 38 

The  Fool's  Reproof 39 

The  Farmer  and  the  Earl 40 

I  have  lost  my  Fortune 41 

Look  Aloft 44 

The  Beef  Lawsuit 45 

Washington  and  the  Poor  Widow •  •  •  •  47 

I  must  do  the  Churning 52 

To-day  and  To-morrow 54 

Instinctive  Knowledge  in  Birds 55 

The  Land  of  the  Blest 59 

Freak  of  a  Hypochondriac 61 

The  Life-Clock 64 

The  Boy  and  the  Man 65 

The  Three  Black  Crows 66 

Edward  and  William,  or  True  Friend- 
ship    68 

The  Gentleman 75 

A  G  ood  Daughter 77 

Let  Home  be  made  Happy 78 

Mortality  and  Immortality 81 

The  Raindrop 83 

Washington  with  his  Mother  for  the 

last  time 87 

Mary,  the  Mother  of  Washington  ....  89 

Captain  Hardy  and  Nathan 93 


Page 

Early  to  Bed  and  Early  to  Rise 96 

Excel 97 

Elocution  and  Reading 98 

The  Mother's  Influence  in  the  Forma- 
tion of  Character 101 

The  Toll-Gate  102 

Light  Words 104 

The  Crown  of  the  Hat 105 

The  Pleasure-Boat 107 

Beware  of  Bad  Books 110 

The  Sisters 112 

Animals 115 

Conscientiousness 117 

All  is  Well 119 

Auction  Extraordinary 120 

Leaving  Home 121 

Press  On 125 

The  Lost  Camel 127 

Peter  the  Great 128 

The  Carrier  Pigeon 129 

The  Cataract  of  Lodore 132 

The  Righteous  Never  Forsaken 134 

Small  Beginnings 137. 

Domestic  Bliss l-lo 

Harmony  among  Brothers 141 

Description   of  the   Person  of  Jesus 

Christ 144 

The  Blind  Preacher 145 

Trust  in  God 117 

The  Banker  and  the  King 148 

Antony's  Oration  over  Causar's  Body  .   155 

Power  of  Maternal  Piety 158 

Thoughts  for  Young  Men 161 

The  Family  Meeting 166 

Shaking  Hands 1G7 

The  Closing  of  the  Year 171 

Sinclair  and  the  Doctor 174 

True  Wisdom 177 

Destruction  of  the  Philistines 173 

The  Grave  of  Aaron  Burr 180 

Death  of  Hamilton 189 

The  Spider  and  the  Fly 184 


M69876 


INDEX. 


1 


Pago 

I  would  not  live  always 188 

Appetite 188 

To  Mary  in  Heaven 190 

The  Pursuit  of  Happiness 191 

Thrilling  Incident 193 

Go  feel  what  I  have  felt 194 

Christ  in  the  Garden  of  Gethsemane  .  196 

Woman  at  Home 197 

A  Friend 199 

Columbus 201 

The  Wish 203 

Address  to  Young  Men 204 

To  My  Mother  in  Heaven 206 

Death  of  Cromwell 207 

The  Snow-Storm 209 

Death  of  Washington 211 

Niagara  Falls 214 

Death  of  Absalom 216 

Colonel  Isaac  Haynes 220 

The  Right  to  Tax  America 223 

Afar  in  the  Desert 224 

Forest  Trees 226 

God's  Ancient  Sanctuaries 229 

The  Teacher's  Profession 232 

Friendsh  i  p,  Love,  and  Truth 234 

Our  Wondrous  Atmosphere 235 

Napoleon  at  Rest 237 


Page 

Typography 238 

Byron's  Fare  well  to  his  Wife 243 

Universal  Education 244 

The  Venomous  Worm 247 

Self-Culture 250 

Shylock,  or  the  Pound  of  Flesh 253 

Europe  and  America 257 

Washington 261 

The  Temperate  and  Dissolute  Man  ...  263 

The  Temple  of  Knowledge 265 

The  Progress  of  Mind 269 

Labor  a  Necessity  and  Duty 270 

The  Mind  is  the  Standard  of  the  Man  273 

Passing  Away 276 

The  Dignity  of  Human  Nature 278 

The  Gambler's  Wife 280 

South  Carolina 281 

Massachusetts 283 

Hymn  of  the  Church- Yard 285 

Speech  of  James  Otis 287 

Select  Sentences 289 

The  Wife 292 

Green-Wood  Cemetery 297 

Remarks  made  by  Clay  and  Webster 
in  the  Senate  of  the  United  States, 

on  the  Death  of  Calhoun 300 

An  Address  to  Young  Persons 304 


INDEX  TO  MUSIC. 

Page 

Leave  us  not 114 

Sweet  Home 124 

The  Snow-Storm 210 

The  Worm  of  the  Still 848 

The  Child's  Portrait 307 

The  Old  Oaken  Bucket 310 

Tbo  Old  Clock  on  the  Stairs -•••  311 


INTRODUCTION. 


[To  be  read  occasionally  by  tbe  claw  as  a  reading  exercise.} 

To  read  well,  the  following  five  particulars  are  essential, 
viz : 

1.  a  full  comprehension  of  the  matter  to  be  read  j 

2.  Correct  position  or  action  ; 

3.  Knowledge  of  the  forms  and  force  of  words  ; 

4.  Perfect  control  over  the  voice  ;  and 

5.  Judgment. 

The  above  essentials  are  fully  expressed  by  one  word — 
Nature. 

Who  has  not  noticed  complete  exemplifications  of  this  truth 
in  unlettered  persons  while  engaged  in  animated  conversation  ? 
Look  at  children  in  their  sports  ;  listen  to  their  tones ; — is  not 
Nature's  voice  distinctly  heard  ?  Do  not  the  speech  and 
manner  accurately  denote  the  feelings  ? 

Look  Nature  through,  consult  her  as  you  will, 
And  ever  her  reply  is,  "  Nature  still." 

That  there  are  many,  very  many  poor  readers  is  a  lamentable 
fact ;  so  notorious,  indeed,  is  it,  that  we  fear  little  dissent  from 
the  assertion  that  nine  hundred  and  ninety-nine  to  the  thousand 
are  regarded  as  such.    And  why  is  this  ?  Why  are  good  readers 


WEBB  S  FOURTH  READER. 


considered  rare  specimens  of  curious  exotics  ?  Simply,  be- 
cause such  are  not  produced  "  at  home,"  and  are  known  only 
by  reputation  !  And  why  are  they  not  "  home  products"  for 
general  every-day  utility  ?  Because  Art  has  assumed  Nature's 
right,  and  either  adulterated  her  efforts,  or  entirely  usurped 
her  power. 

It  is  our  object  to  restore  and  preserve  the  original  design. 
Nature  assisted  by  Art,  (and  not  Art  by  Nature,  or  indepen- 
dent of  hor,)  is  tl.e  obvious/law  of  the  universe;  and  any 
infringement  of  the  latter  upon  the  rights  of  the  former,  is  a 
usurf/Atioii.  It  destroys  the  harmony  of  the  system:  the  re- 
cipients (Nature's  offspring)  strenuously  protest  against  it,  and 
submit  only  to  long-continued  force. 

The  violation  of  this  law  is  also  one  of  the  great  secrets  of 
the  quite  general  aversion  to  books,  schools,  &c,  and  of  the  no 
less  general  stupidity  of  mind.     When  will  man  learn  to 

u  Take  Nature's  path, 
And  mad  opinions  leave  ?" 

1st.  To  READ  WELL,  THE  SUBJECT  MUST  BE  THOROUGHLY 
UNDERSTOOD. 

This  is  so  nearly  a  self-evident  truth  that  it  needs  no  arqpi- 
ments  to  establish  it ;  and  referring  to  the  preceding  Numbers 
for  our  views  as  to  its  absolute  necessity,  we  will  pass  to  the 

2d.  Correct  Position. 

However  well  the  reader  may  comprehend  his  subject,  and 
however  pleasing  his  tones,  a  graceful  manner  or  position  must 
be  added,  to  produce  any  thing  like  its  full  effect.  The  man- 
ner of  delivery  is  at  least  as  important  an  agent  in  producing 
the  desired  result,  as  the  matter  delivered.  So  important  is  it, 
that  it  has  always  been  considered,  by  the  greatest  orators,  as 
the  essential  in  oratory  ;  and  it  is  equally  essential  in  reading,  for 
reading  is  simply  speaking  at  sight. 


WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER. 


Two  positions  will  suffice  as  illustrations  : 

A  represents  a  posi- 
tion often  seen  in  our 
schools.  It  is  wrong  for 
several  reasons.  It  is 
awkward,  offensive,  ob- 
structive, unhealthy,  <fcc, 
&c.  That  it  is  awkward, 
any  one  can  see.  That 
it  is  offensive,  our  feel- 
ings  bear  witness,  when-  Wrong  ^^  R.ght  ^.^ 
ever  we  are  compelled  to 

behold  it.  That  it  is  obstructive,  the  ear  ever  will  declare, 
as  long  as  it  is  treated  to  half-stifled,  guttural  sounds.  That 
it  is  unhealthy,  the  experience  of  old  practitioners,  physical 
laws,  and  common  sense  alike  assert. 

B  represents  the  correct  position.  It  is  in  every  respect  the 
reverse  of  A.  It  is  a  commanding  position,  and  never  fails  to 
secure  the  attention,  and  create  pleasing  emotions.  It  allows 
free  exercise  of  the  muscles  of  the  chest ;  a  full  and  natural 
inflation  of  the  lungs  ;  easy  modification  of  the  voice  by  the 
organs  of  speech ;  and  of  course,  a  full,  distinct  articulation 
and  modulation.  It  is  emphatically  the  reading  position,  and 
should  always  be  taken  in  reading  (at  school.)  The  right 
hand  hangs  gracefully  at  the  side,  and  is  free  to  gesticulate, 
and  turn  pages,  if  necessary. 

Every  teacher  will  appreciate  the  importance  of  this  posi- 
tion, in  an  elocutionary  point  of  view  ;  but  it  is  not  solely  in 
this  light  that  we  urge  it;  as  conducive  to  health  we  would  have 
it  observed.  We  know  by  sad  experience  the  value  of  health, 
and  we  know  that  teachers  are  accountable,  to  a  very  great 
extent,  for  the  loss  of  it  by  their  pupils.  We  speak  feelingly 
on  this  subject,  having  seen  and  felt  the  bitter  fruits  of  their 
neglect.     And  we  again  entreat  teachers  to  guard  the  health 


8  WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER. 

of  their  pupils — to  see  that  they  have  a  plenty  of  outdoor 
exercise,  of  in-door  pure  air,  and  that  the  position  of  the  body 
is  such  as  to  allow  their  beneficial  results.* 

Please  turn  to  No.  2,  and  read  "  Note  D,"  page  24  ;  also 
to  No.  3,  page  12.  The  practical  improvement  of  these  sug- 
gestions we  can  not  too  strongly  urge. 

3d.  Knowledge  of  Words  and  their  Meaning. 

This  truth  is  "  self-evident" — a  word  can  not  be  pronounced 
till  it  is  known :  then  of  course  there  must  be  a  familiarity 
with  the  looks  or  forms  of  words,  to  secure  their  ready  pro- 
nunciation. As  well  might  a  blind  deaf  man  assume  to  criti- 
cise an  elocutionary  effort,  as  for  any  one  else,  blind  to  the 
meaning  of  the  words  used,  to  attempt  to  make  such  effort. 
This  former  acquisition  we  have  endeavored  to  secure  in  our 
previous  Numbers,  by  arranging  the  words  in  columns  for  sight 
pronunciation.  We  dispense  with  this  arrangement  in  this 
Number,  believing  the  child  so  far  advanced  as  to  render  it 
unnecessary ;  but  we  would  strongly  recommend  (as  a  sub- 
stitute better  adapted  to  more  advanced  scholars)  the  occa- 
sional pronunciation  of  paragraphs,  or  even  pages,  commencing 
at  the  bottom,  and  proceeding  from  right  to  left,  to  the  top. 

The  latter  can  only  be  acquired  by  close  observation,  aided 
by  a  full,  illustrated  dictionary.  The  schoolboy's  library 
can  no  more  be  complete  without  a  dictionary,  than  his  break- 
fast without  food.  Some  authors  have  offered  a  substitute  in 
the  form  of  a  somewhat  extended  defining  vocabulary,  pre- 
ceding the  reading  lessons ;  but  this  substitute  can  not  be  per- 
manently received — 

1st.  Because  there  must  be   a   limited  number  of  words 


*  Great  care  should  be  taken  not  to  allow  the  pupils  to  lean  over  tbeir 
doska.  It  contracts  the  chest,  and  invariably,  if  persisted  in,  produces 
disease. 


WEBB  S  FOURTH  READER. 


defined,  and  the  definitions  must  be  local,  or  the  volume  be 
increased  to  undue  size ;  or  else  the  number  of  books  must  be 
so  much  augmented  as  to  be  burdensome,  not  only  inversely 
to  the  pockets  of  parents,  but  directly  to  classification,  and 
consequently,  to  the  best  interests  of  the  school. 

2d.  Because,  when  carried  to  the  fullest  extent,  it  must  fall 
infinitely  below  the  absolute  demands  of  the  least  inquiring 
minds :  besides,  its  tendency  is  to  restrain  rather  than  to  in- 
cite inquiry. 

In  No.  3  we  defined  a  few  words,  but  the  readers  of  this  vol- 
ume we  consider  sufficiently  advanced  to  be  close  dictionary 
students.  And  here  we  will  remark,  that  the  dictionary — al- 
most universally,  so  far  as  we  have  observed — is  put  to  a 
wrong  use.  Children  at  school  should  use  it,  as  their  parents  do 
at  home— -for  reference.  They  should  neither  allow  them- 
selves, nor  be  allowed,  to  hear,  see,  or  think  of  a  word,  with- 
out at  once  making  its  meaning  "  their  own,"  if  it  was  not  so 
previously.  The  reading  lesson  should  be  carefully  read, 
silently,  previous  to  the  class  exercise,  at  which  time  every 
word  not  understood  should  be  examined  in  the  dictionary, 
and  these  definitions,  or  their  import,  given  at  the  spelling 
exercise  from  the  reading  lesson. 

The  pupil  (and  others  might  find  it  beneficial)  should  carry 
a  memorandum  book  and  pencil  in  his  pocket,  in  which  to 
note  such  difficult  words  as  may  occur  to  him,  and  at  the  first 
opportunity  consult  his  "dictionary"  with  reference  to  them; 
or,  which  perhaps  might  be  better,  carry  a  "  Pocket  Dic- 
tionary." 


10  WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER. 

4th.  Perfect  Control  of  the  Voice. 

The  importance  and  difficulty  of  acquiring  such  control,  will 
be  more  readily  appreciated  by  recurring  to  a  person  learning 
to  sing  "  the  scale  ;"  and  a  little  reflection  will  develop  alike 
the  importance  of  speaking  and  singing  intonations.* 

By  the  following  illustrations  we  hope  to  give  a  hint  which, 
if  improved,  will  aid  in  securing  this  object. 

a?  a.  a?        a.  a?        a. 


,1  a.  a  7  a.        a?  c 

at  a.  a?        a.  a?        a. 


.#_? '-0 Q 0—0 0- 

a?  a.  a?  a.        a?     tremulous,  a. 

a?  a.  a?  f   f 

^0=^-^0^ L_I_L_J_#_#_JL_L_L_L 


— •- 


# # 


a?  a.         a?  a.  a?    a?    a?    a?    a?    a.     a.     a.      a.      a. 

Note. — The  middle  line  represents  the  ordinary  tone  of  the  voice ;  the 
upper  line,  the  highest  falsetto ;  the  lower  line,  the  lowest  audible  sound ; 
and  the  intermediate  lines  and  spaces,  corresponding  tones  of  the  voice. 
From  the  higher  to  the  lower  tones,  and  vice  versa,  the  slur  is  used  as  in 
music.  The  dots  denote  that  the  voice  in  going  from  one  note  to  the 
other,  does  not  skip  the  intermediate  space,  but  that  its  ascent  and  de- 
scent are  gradual 

The  teacher,  we  apprehend,  will  readily  perceive  the  object 
to  be  attained,  and  the  application  of  the  means  (which  we 
deem  sufficient)  offered  to  secure  it. 


*  See  No.  3,  pages  5,  9,  and  10. 


WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER.  11 

5.  Judgment,  or  the  practical  exercise  oy  Common 
Sense. 

It  is  a  mistaken  idea  that  infallible  rules  can  be  given  for 
reading.  Just  as  well  can  they  be  given  for  conversation. 
What  is  true  of  one  is  true  of  the  other ;  for  reading  is  noth- 
ing but  sight-speaking.  Thoughts  dictated  by  paper,  require 
the  same  utterance,  as  when  first  dictated  by  mind ;  and 
any  attempt  to  draw  a  distinction,  seems  entirely  gratuitous. 
The  matter  and  the  occasion  should  determine  the  manner. 
This  manner  should  be  the  same  with  or  without  the  book. 
Nature  herself  will  dictate  what  the  manner  should  be,  when 
the  matter  and  the  occasion  are  fully  understood;  and  any 
studied,  predetermined  effort  is  awkward  superfluity.  No  two 
persons  converse  on  the  same  subject  precisely  alike, — no 
two  persons  should  read  on  the  same  subject  precisely  alike, 
A  successful  attempt  to  square  all  by  stereotyped  rules  is  im- 
possible, and  it  would  be  impracticable  if  it  were  possible.  It 
would  be  much  like  an  attempt  to  remold  the  human  features, 
for  the  purpose  of  making  all  persons  look  alike  !  and  would 
be  attended  with  little  less  favorable  practical  results. 

We  are  aware  that  this  view  will  not  meet  the  approbation 
of  all,  but  we  do  believe  that  a  little  observation  and  reflec- 
tion will  secure  for  it  the  approbation  of  the  "  people ;"  and, 
with  like  preHminaries,  we  can  not  but  expect  the  same  from 
"  others." 

There  is  one  other  attainment  necessary,  which  (though  de- 
pendent on,  and  almost  inseparable  from  the  five  "  specifics" 
already  given)  is  not  unworthy  of  mention  here;  viz.,  the 
power  of  reading  with  the  eye  in  advance  of  the  voice. 

This  is  not  a  difficult  acquirement,  but  one  necessary  to  the 
correct  pronunciation  of  sentences.  The  eye  should  be  trained 
to  read  at  least  one  or  two  lines  ahead  of  the  voice,  so  as  to 
inform  the  mind  of  the  nature  of  the  reading,  and  allow  it 
an  opportunity  to  dictate  the  style. 


„J 


12  WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER. 


RULES  FOR  READING. 

Rule  I. — Thoroughly  understand  the  Subject  and  the 
Matter  to  be  Read. 

None — The  observance  of  this  rule  is  absolutely  necassary  to  improve- 
ment A  reading  lesson  must  be  studied  as  honestly  as  any  other  lesson, 
or  it  may  quite  as  well  be  dispensed  with  entirely.  The  aversion,  almost 
universally  manifested,  to  studying  this  lesson,  is,  we  apprehend,  more 
chargeable  to  the  teacher  than  the  pupiL  We  would  recommend  to  the 
teacher,  to  have  it  understood  by  the  school,  that  this  lesson  is  to  be 
studied  the  same  as  a  lesson  in  History ;  and  at  the  reading  exercise, 
previous  to  reading,  that  the  class  be  required  to  give  the  substance  of 
the  lesson.— (See  Int.  No.  2,  page  9.) 

Rule  II. — Take  an  easy,  graceful,  and  dignified  Posi- 
tion. 

Note. — Very  much  of  the  effect  of  reading  depends  on  the  appearance 
of  the  reader. — (See  Practical  Illustrations  for  the  truth  of  this ;  and  cut 
* B"  to  learn  the  correct  standing  position ;  and  also  No.  2,  page  24, 
Note  D.) 

Rule  III. — Speak  Easily,  Distinctly,  Accurately. — 
Talk  from  the  Book  as  though  without  it. 

Note. — "  Whatever  is  worth  doing,  is  worth  doing  toelC  This  is  em- 
phatically true  of  reading.  Let  the  reader  remember  this,  and  strictly 
adhere  to  this  rule.  If  the  power  to  do  so  is  lost,  let  earnest  and  perse- 
vering effort  be  made  to  regain  it — (For  directions,  see  the  Introductions 
to  this  Series :  especially  No.  3,  for  correct  articulation,  and  the  means  o" 
securing  it) 


WEBB'S 
FOURTH  READER. 


LESSON  I. 

THE  NATURE  AND  OBJECT  OF  EDUCATION. 

1.  In  presenting  this  book  to  our  young  friends,  we 
would  ask  their  attention  to  a  few  remarks  on  the  na- 
ture and  object  of  education,  and  more  especially  to  the 
relation  reading  bears  to  it. 

2.  If  you  have  attentively  perused  the  previous  num- 
bers, you  will  not  be  surprised  to  learn  that  it  is  our 
firm  belief,  that,  to  be  a  good  reader  is  a  greater  ac- 
complishment— one  that  imparts  more  real  pleasure  and 
secures  a  more  extensive  influence,  than  any  other  our 
schools  are  capable  of  bestowing. 

3.  If  your  time  is  so  limited  as  to  render  it  impossible 
to  become  a  good  reader,  and  also  proficient  in  geogra- 
phy, history,  arithmetic,  &c,  by  all  means  become  a 
good  reader.  The  reasons  for  this  advice  are  partially 
stated  in  the  preceding  paragraph. 

4.  A  poor  reader  has  a  dislike  for  reading,  and  seldom 
occupies  his  leisure  moments  in  this  employment,  un- 
less, perhaps,  it  may  be  in  the  perusal  of  such  works  as 
please  the  fancy  rather  than  enlighten  the  understand- 
ing ;  while,  on  the  contrary,  every  leisure  moment  of 
the  good  reader  is  not  only  occupied  by  it,  but  with 
works  of  an  opposite  character ; — such  as  produce  ra- 
tional enjoyment — mental  elevation.     The  mind  of  the 


14  WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER. 

former  is  enervated,  while  that  of  the  latter  is  strength- 
ened and  expanded. 

5.  And  what  is  the  final  result  ?  One  is  ignorant  of 
passed  and  passing  events :  the  other  knows  the  world 
as  it  is  and  was.  This  instructs  society :  that  is  in- 
structed by  it.  One  is  useful:  the  other  is  useless ;  and 
society  rewards  them  accordingly.  It  esteems  and 
honors  one :  it  is  content  to  leave  the  other — a  blank. 

6.  It  is  impossible  for  &  good  reader  to  be  an  ignorant 
man  :  he  will  read — he  will  learn  ;  and  it  is  almost  as 
impossible  for  a  poor  reader  to  be  a  learned  man. 

7.  Notwithstanding,  under  proper  direction,  by  na- 
ture all  are  good  readers,  for  some  cause,  most  persons 
at  your  age  are  far  otherwise;  and  effort,  long  and  con- 
stant effort,  is  required  to  attain  to  this  distinction. 
This  effort  you  must  make,  or  be  useless  members  of 
society. 

8.  We  have  endeavored  to  place  within  your  hands 
the  means  of  securing  this  desideratum.  If  you  are 
disposed  to  benefit  by  our  efforts,  a  careful  perusal  of 
the  several  introductions  will  teach  you  how: — if  you 
are  not,  nothing  we  can  add  here  can  induce  this  dis- 
position. 

9.  There  is  no  royal  passage  to  learning  nor  to  fame. 
"Whoever  is  wise  is  wise  for  himself,"  and  to  gain 
wisdom  requires  study.  You  are  in  school  for  this 
purpose,  and  if  by  negligence  you  fail  to  gain  it,  you 
commit  a  sin,  which,  however  merciful  God  may  be  to 
erring  man,  we  fear  he  will  not  forgive,  and  the  conse- 
quence you  alone  must  bear. 

10.  Education  is  not  book  knowledge ;  nor,  indeed, 
is  it  any  other  knowledge,  unless  it  be  that  which  en- 
ables us,  of  ourselves,  to  obtain  more.  Practically  con- 
sidered and  developed,  "Education  is  that  process  by 
which   the  powers  and  faculties  of  an  individual  are 


15 


duly  and  harmoniously  developed  and  disciplined,  in 
which  he  acquires  a  thorough  practical  knowledge  of 
individual,  social,  and  political  duties;  and  an  ability 
and  disposition  to  perform  them  fully,  accurately,  and 
promptly." 

11.  Such  is  education.  It  is  as  much  its  office  to 
teach  how  to  plow  and  to  sow,  to  reap  and  to  mow,  or 
to  perform  any  other  necessary  labor,  as  it  is  to  teach 
Greek  and  Latin,  French  and  Spanish, — to  write  poetry, 
or  play  the  piano ;  and,  indeed,  it  is  even  more ;  for 
the  more  useful  the  occupation,  the  stronger  the  claims 
to  its  aid. 

12.  "  He  that  ruleth  his  spirit  is  greater  than  he  that 
taketh  a  city."  No  one's  education  can  be  complete  till 
he  can  govern  himself;  and  when  he  can  govern  him- 
self, he  is  a  fit  person  to  govern  the  world.  Would 
you  gain  this  high  qualification, — the  means  are  within 
your  reach,  and  God  will  reward  your  efforts ;  but  if 
you  neglect  them,  and  grow  up  in  idleness,  ignorance, 
and  dissipation — know  that  for  all  these  things,  God 
will  bring  you  to  judgment. 


3.  Pro  fi'  cient  (pro  fish'  ent),  far  advanced  in  knowledge. 

4.  E  nerv'  a  ted,  weakened;  without  force  or  power  to  act. 

8.  De  sid  er  a'  turn,  that  which  is  desired.  In  duce',  to  lead  or  influ- 
ence by  persuasion. 

Note. — The  figures  before  the  words  defined  denote  the  paragraphs 
from  which  they  are  respectively  taken.  We  deem  it  best  to  append 
but  few  words,  and  those  such  as  rarely  occur  or  whose  pronuncia- 
tion might  be  mistaken.  Our  reasons  for  this  are  in  part  given  in  the 
Introduction,  to  which  we  respectfully  request  the  teacher  to  refer, 
earnestly  hoping  the  suggestions  in  relation  to  the  importance  and  use  of 
the  dictionary,  and  the  pronunciation  of  sentences  from  right  to  left,  will, 
as  far  as  possible,  be  complied  with.  We  consider  no  other  part  of  a 
child's  (book)  education  so  important  as  this ;  and  every  one  must  know, 
that  to  bead  well  the  words  and  subject  must  be  known. 


16  WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER. 


LESSON    II 


THE    PET    LAMB 


1.  Every  one  who  has  been  at  Aylesbury,  has  heard 
the  story  of  the  Pet  Lamb.  Many  summers  ago,  a 
sweet  little  blue-eyed  girl  was  seen  each  morning,  as 
soon  as  the  dew  was  off  the  grass,  sporting  in  the 
meadow,  along  the  brook  that  runs  between  the  village 
and  the  river,  with  the  only  companion  in  which  she 
appeared  to  take  delight, — a  beautiful  snow-white  lamb. 

2.  It  was  the  gift  of  a  deceased  sister  ;  and  the  little 
girl  was  now  an  orphan.  Her  family  had  been  wealthy 
and  respectable  in  early  life,  when  they  resided  in  Phila- 
delphia ;  but  her  father,  having  met  with  some  severe 
losses  in  trade,  went  to  try  his  fortune  in  the  East  In- 
dies, and  the  first  news  the  family  received  afterward, 
was  of  his  decease  in  Java. 

3.  They  were  destitute,  and  being  driven  from  the 
city  by  the  breaking  out  of  a  malignant  disease,  were 
thrown  by  chance  into  the  residence  of  a  venerable  old 
lady,  who,  having  buried  the  mother  and  sister,  came  up 
to  Aylesbury  to  spend  her  remaining  days  with  her  only 
charge,  this  engaging  orphan. 

4.  Thus  left,  early  in  life,  no  wonder,  poor  girl,  that 
she  loved  her  little  lamb,  the  only  living  token  of  a  sis- 
ter's affection,  for  that  sister's  sake  ;  no  wonder  that  all 
the  affections  of  her  innocent  heart  should  cling  to  the 
last  treasure  left  to  her  desolate  youth,  and  grow  fresher 
and  fresher,  as  the  grass  grew  greener  over  the  sod  that 
pressed  the  ashes  of  her  kindred  friends. 

5.  The  little  creature  was  perfectly  tame,  and  would 
follow  its  young  mistress,  when  permitted,  through  the 
village,  and  wherever  she  went ;  and  when  she  came 


WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER.  17 

to  the  village  school,  it  would  run  after  her,  and  lie 
down  on  the  green  in  the  shade  of  the  trees,  until  she 
was  ready  to  return  home  with  it. 

6.  She  washed  its  soft  fleece,  and  fed  it  with  her  own 
hands  every  day ;  and  so  faithful  was  she,  in  her  atten- 
tion to  her  pretty  favorite,  that  the  villagers  all  loved 
her,  and  many  a  warm  hope  was  expressed,  that  she, 
like  that  helpless  lamb,  might  find  a  fond  and  devoted 
protector,  when  the  friend  who  was  now  her  foster 
mother,  and  who  was  fast  wasting  away  beneath  the 
weight  of  years,  should  go  down  to  the  tomb,  and  leave 
her,  young  and  inexperienced,  in  a  world  of  selfishness 
and  vice. 

7.  During  the  time  her  kind  patron  lived,  Clarissa 
was  treated  as  a  daughter.  Contiguous  to  their  dwell- 
ing was  the  residence  of  a  well-living  farmer,  whose  son 
used  frequently  to  climb  over  the  stile  into  the  meadow, 
to  see  Clarissa  and  her  lamb ;  and  in  process  of  time 
their  young  hearts  became  knit  together  by  a  tie,  more 
tender  than  that  which  binds  a  brother  to  a  sister. 

8.  But  when  the  old  lady  died,  her  will  fell  into  the 
hands  of  rogues,  who  destroyed  it,  and  succeeded  in  get- 
ting possession  of  the  property. 

9.  This  was  the  death-blow  to  Clarissa's  hopes.  The 
intercourse  between  her  and  Charles  was  broken  off  in- 
stantly by  his  father.  He  was  sent  to  a  medical  school 
at  a  distance  ;  and  she  was  forced  to  go  out  to  service 
in  families,  who  had  before  prided  themselves  on  her 
acquaintance. 

10.  It  was  a  bitter  fortune,  but  she  bore  it  with  heroic 
fortitude  at  first,  for  still  she  received,  through  a  private 
channel,  frequent  and  affectionate  letters  from  her  bro- 
ther Charles,  as  she  called  the  young  companion  of  her 
brighter  fortunes,  and  still  she  had  her  little  favorite 
lamb. 


18  WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER. 

11.  But  at  last  this  secret  correspondence  was  dis- 
covered and  broken  off ;  all  possibility  of  further  inter- 
course was  prevented ;  and  last  of  all,  they  took  from 
her,  her  only  remaining  friend  and  favorite,  the  memo- 
rial of  a  departed  sister's  love,  her  pet  lamb. 

12.  She  tried,  by  every  means  within  her  power,  to 
prevent  the  separation,  but  in  vain.  The  only  privilege 
granted  her  was  to  have  her  name,  "  Clarissa  Beaumont, 
Aylesbury,"  marked  on  its  fleece,  in  beautiful  gold 
letters ;  and  then  she  kissed  it  for  the  last  time,  and  saw 
it  delivered  to  a  drover,  who  was  proceeding  with  a 
large  flock  to  the  city. 

13.  For  a  time  the  deserted  and  unfortunate  girl  gave 
herself  up  to  the  destroying  influence  of  a  melancholy 
spirit.  Sickness  and  sorrow  preyed  upon  her  delicate 
frame.  She  was  no  longer  the  gay  and  sportive  belle  of 
the  village,  attracting  the  admiration  of  all. 

14.  Often,  at  the  parties  of  her  former  associates,  she 
now  stood,  a  poor  unnoticed  servant ;  and  she  felt  how 
bitter  a  portion  was  cheerless  poverty,  when  it  invades 
and  takes  possession  of  hearts,  once  rich  and  happy. 

15.  She  felt  with  how  much  meanness  and  littleness 
of  spirit,  the  proud  delight  to  trample,  when  they  can, 
on  every  thing  of  virtue,  or  beauty,  or  loveliness,  that  is 
superior  to  their  own.  She  felt  how  treacherous  was 
hope  ;  how  vain  the  promises  of  youth ;  how  vanishing 
the  friendships  of  an  interested  and  selfish  world. 

16.  But  in  process  of  time,  her  native  strength  of 
mind,  and  that  "  untaught,  innate  philosophy,"  unknown 
to  the  low  and  vulgar,  triumphed  even  over  misfor- 
tunes. 

17.  She  resolved,  that  since  it  was  the  will  of  Heaven 
to  allot  her  the  humblest  sphere  in  life,  she  would  strive 
the  better  to  improve  her  narrow  privileges,  and  to  re- 
sign herself  to  her  fate,  without  one  rebellious  murmur. 


WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER.  19 

She  did  so.     But  still  she  often  shed  a  tear  over  the 
memory  of  her  lost  pet  lamb. 

18.  We  must  now  beg  pardon  of  our  Aylesbury 
friends,  while  we  go,  with  the  reader,  on  a  trip  to  Phila- 
delphia. On  the  extensive  commons  toward  the  Schuyl- 
kill, a  large  collection  of  cattle  was  exhibited  by  a  com- 
pany of  traders ;  and,  as  the  sight  was  a  fine  one,  many 
persons  from  the  city  came  out  to  see  it. 

19.  Among  the  crowd  was  a  gentleman,  whose  de- 
meanor and  features  bore  the  marks  of  deep  and  fixed 
sorrow.  He  walked  slowly  along,  surveying  with  half- 
downcast  eyes,  the  moving,  bustling  group ;  his  hands 
behind  him,  and  his  rich  dress  hanging  carelessly  about 
him. 

20.  As  he  cast  his  eye  over  the  passing  flocks,  he  saw 
a  lamb,  with  the  name  of  "Clarissa  Beaumont"  on  its 
neck ;  and  suddenly  arousing,  as  from  a  lethargy,  he 
rushed  into  the  flock  and  seized  it ;  he  was  not  mis- 
taken in  the  name ;  and  when  he  inquired  about  its  his- 
tory, and  was  told  that  it  came  from  Aylesbury,  he  pur- 
chased it  and  had  it  conveyed  to  town. 

21.  His  conduct,  which  was  wholly  inexplicable  to 
the  bystanders,  who  crowded  around  him  at  the  time, 
was  not  rendered  the  less  so,  to  those  who  knew  that 
the  next  day  he  set  out  in  company  with  the  lamb  he 
had  purchased,  for  the  interior  of  Pennsylvania. 

22.  It  was  a  holiday  among  the  young  people  at 
Aylesbury,  on  account  of  the  anniversary  of  the  birth 
of  the  eldest  daughter  of  the  lady  who  kept  the  inn  ; 
and  a  large  party  was  assembled  around  the  tea-table, 
in  the  afternoon,  in  the  full  flow  of  hilarity  and  mirth. 

23.  Poor  Clarissa  Beaumont,  the  prettiest  of  them  ail, 
was  there,  not  as  a  companion,  but  as  a  servant ;  the 
butt  of  every  vulgar  jeer ;  secretly  scorned,  and  openly 
insulted  by  those  who  were  jealous  of  her  superior  in- 


20  WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER. 

tellect,  beauty,  and  grace  of  manners.  She  was  exposed 
to  a  hundred  impertinent  liberties,  from  those  who  had 
once  courted  her  favor,  and  grown  proud  on  receiving 
a  smile  from  her  sweet  lips. 

24.  She  was  still  treasuring  up  the  bitter  lesson,  that 
love,  and  friendship,  and  respect,  are  too  often  mere  de- 
pendents on  the  breath  of  fortune,  when  a  beautiful  car- 
riage, drawn  by  two  noble  bays,  stopped  at  the  door  of 
the  inn. 

25.  The  attention  of  the  company  was  arrested ;  all 
were  at  the  windows  ;  and  lo  !  an  old  gentleman  stepped 
from  the  carriage,  and  his  servant  handed  out  Clarissa 
Beaumont's  pet  lamb. 

26.  The  astonished  girl  flew  out  to  embrace  it ;  but 
before  she  could  clasp  its  neck,  the  arms  of  the  noble 
stranger  encircled  her :  it  was  her  father ! 

27.  The  report  of  his  death  in  the  Indies  was  un- 
founded. He  had  returned  within  a  month  to  Phila- 
delphia, with  an  ample  fortune  ;  and  after  having  been 
led  to  suppose  that  all  his  family  were  deceased,  this 
accident  brought  him  to  new  life  and  joy,  in  the  recovery 
of  a  darling  child,  the  image  of  an  idolized  wife,  and  the 
last  pledge  of  her  fervent  love. 

28.  The  scene  that  followed  may  be  imagined.  Cla- 
rissa was  again  the  belle  of  the  village.  But  she  treated 
the  fulsome  fawnings  and  congratulations  of  her  old 
acquaintances  with  as  little  attention  now,  as  she  had 
their  scoffs  before.  Her  father  took  her,  in  a  few  days, 
to  Philadelphia,  where  she  lived  in  the  bosom  of  luxury 
and  splendor;  yet  still  she  continued  to  be  as  kind,  as 
amiable,  and  as  lovely,  as  she  had  ever  been. 

29.  And  even  then,  true  to  her  early  affections,  she 
did  not  forget  her  faithful  Charles,  whose  heart  had  never 
changed  through  all  his  father's  persecutions,  and  her 
humiliation.     But  when  his  father  lost  his  estate,  and  his 


WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER.  21 

family  was  reduced  by  misfortunes  to  abject  want,  she 
married  him,  and  restored  them  all  to  plenty  and  happi- 
ness. 


LESSON    III. 

THE    VALUE    OF    TIME. 

1.  The  value  of  time  maybe  calculated  and  enforced 
by  the  mean  duration  of  human  life.  In  this  country, 
at  least  in  the  large  cities,  about  one-half  of  the  rational 
and  accountable  creation  die  under  four  years  of  age  ; 
and  perhaps,  were  the  calculation  to  be  universally  ex- 
tended, upon  the  average,  thirty  years'  existence  to 
each  would  equal,  if  not  exceed,  the  life  of  the  in- 
dividual. 

2.  From  these  thirty,  ten  years  may  be  deducted  for 
childhood ;  during  which  period  few  rational  pleasures 
are  cultivated.  This  reduces  the  possession  of  time  to 
twenty  years  ;  and,  if  we  allow  one-half  to  sleep  and 
sickness,  we  shall  then  have  ten  years  left  for  intellectual 
improvement  and  general  happiness. 

3.  Is  this  the  average  portion  of  active  existence  al- 
lowed to  man  ?  and  is  this  the  being  that  is  complaining 
of  the  tediousness  of  life,  and  the  slow  flight  of  time  ? 
that  is  continually  seeking  some  new  diversion,  some 
fashionable  amusement,  to  consume  his  time  ?  and,  when 
his  time  is  consumed,  bitterly  complaining  of  the  brevity 
of  life,  yet  very  rarely  reflecting  on  its  uncertainty  ? 
Alas !  for  the  inconsistency  of  my  fellow-creatures !  alas  ! 
for  my  own ! 

4.  The  fact  affords  us  an  important  lesson,  which  can 
not  be  expressed  with  more  point  than  the  Wise  Man's 


22  WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER, 

inference  from  the  same  premises  :  "  Whatsoever  thy 
hand  findeth  to  do,  do  it  with  thy  might" 
It  suggests  the  necessity  of  using 

5.  I.  Diligence  in  acquiring  Useful  Knowledge. — 
Have  you  yet  a  few  years  before  you  commence  the 
anxieties  of  life  on  your  own  account  ?  How  are  you 
improving  their  fleeting,  precious  moments  ?  Are  you 
wasting  any  of  them  ? 

6.  II.  Diligence  in  Business. — Are  you  the  possessor 
of  only  ten  years  of  life,  and  those  perhaps  half  spent, 
and  do  you  stand  idling  in  the  market-place — the  very 
center  of  activity  ?  But  little  need  be  said  here ;  an 
idler  is  universally  despised. 

7.  III.  Economy  of  Time. — Are  you  the  possessor  of 
only  ten  years,  and  those,  it  may  be,  nearly  exhausted, 
and  are  you  seeking  expedients  to  kill  time  ?  Alas  !  go 
on  with  your  reduction,  and  from  these  ten  years  deduct 
those  lost  by  negligence,  or  wasted  in  idleness,  or 
murdered  by  vice,  and  what  is  the  final  result  ? 

8.  IV.  This  reflection  suggests  Energy  in  Benevo- 
lence. Look  around  on  your  fellow-men  :  you  mean  to 
do  a  great  deal  of  good,  but  you  are  hesitating,  con- 
sidering, calculating,  what  you  shall  do  ;  and  while  you 
are  thus  hesitating,  the  poor  and  distressed  are  starving, 
sickening,  dying! — dying  in  ignorance,  misery,  and  vice. 

9.  But,  have  you  already  far  outlived  this  calculation, 
and  do  you  see  many  probable  years  of  existence  still 
before  you  ?  Be  it  so :  sit  down  then,  with  pen  in 
hand,  and  calculate  :  how  many  years  have  you  em- 
ployed in  your  proper  sphere  of  duty  ?  how  many  years 
or  days  have  you  filled  up  in  acts  of  beneficence  to  man, 
justice  to  yourself,  or  devotion  to  your  Maker?  Fare- 
well, reader ;  pursue  these  inquiries  alone ;  "  take  thy 
bill,  and  sit  down  quietly,  and  write,"  and  may  con- 
science do  its  office ! 


WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER.  23 


LESSON  IV. 

A    MOMENT    OF    TIME. 

1.  Time  once  lost  can  never  be  regained.  The  mo- 
ment that  is  lost,  is  lost  forever.  Think  not  it  is  of  little 
value,  that  more  will  come.  It  may  be  so,  and  it  may 
not.  There  will  be  a  time  when  the  last  moment  has 
fled. 

2.  In  life  there  is  no  stationary  point.  Advance  or 
retreat  is  stamped  on  man ;  and,  as  the  index  on  the 
dial-plate  tells  the  moments  past,  if  we  are  no  wiser,  no 
better,  no  happier,  so  surely  we  are  more  ignorant,  more 
depraved,  more  miserable ! 

3.  Think  not  then  a  moment  wasted,  time  merely  lost. 
The  wheel  is  reversed,  and  you  are  less  a  man  than 
ycu  were  a  moment  before.  Effort  must  be  made  to 
regain  your  former  position,  and  thus  double  the  time 
idled  away  is  gone — gone  to  meet  you  only  at  the  judg- 
ment-day !  And  yet  how  many  moments  of  man's  short 
life  are  wasted ! 

4.  There  is  scarcely  a  person  who  does  not  waste,  at 
least,  an  hour  every  day.  This  whole  hour  is  lost  by 
piece-meals.  A  moment  here,  a  moment  there,  "  a  little 
more  sleep,  a  little  more  slumber,"  hesitation,  and  in- 
action, and  laboring  for  that  which  "satisfieth  not;"  and 
thus,  ere  we  are  aware,  much  time  is  past — a  blank  be- 
fore its  God. 

5.  But  the  school-boy,  how  many  moments  does  he 
idle  away !  What  a  large  share  of  his  time  is  lost !  A 
school  day  consists,  generally,  of  six  hours ;  a  school 
week  of  five  days ;  a  school  month  of  four  weeks,  and 
a  school  year  of  ten  months. 

6.  Now,  what  is  the  result  of  a  little  calculation  ? 
Simply  this,   that  in  every  thirty  years,   seven  whole 


24  WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER. 

school  years  are  gone !  and  not  only  are  the  seven  years 
gone,  but  each  has  taken  a  companion,  and  fourteen 
years  in  thirty — who  shall  give  their  account  ? 

7.  This  is  the  result  of  letting  one  hour  a  day 
run  to  waste.  If  we  add  to  this  but  four  minutes 
more  per  day,  it  will  be  found  that  at  the  age  of  sixty 
years  you  have  lived  only — thirty  !  Is  the  life  of  man 
too  long  to  endure  ?  and  must  he,  when  half  his  course 
is  run,  thus  ignobly  end  his  race  ?  For  what  was  he 
made  ?  Has  he  no  duties  to  perform  ?  Alas !  for  my 
fellow-man !  How  consistent,  yet,  oh !  how  in-consis- 
tent, are  all  thy  ways ! 

8.  The  average  age  of  man  is  about  thirty  years. 
Deduct  the  time  necessary  to  prepare  for  the  active 
duties  of  life,  and  what  is  left  ?  At  most  but  ten  short 
years !  and  the  half  of  this  must  run  to  waste !  Oh, 
deluded  man,  how  long  ere  thou  wilt  learn  to  value  the 
gifts  of  thy  Maker !  How  long  ere  thou  wilt  improve 
the  passing  moments — "  live  while  you  live,"  and  so  live 
as  to  go  down  to  thy  grave  fully  ripe,  prepared  for  the 
peaceful  harvest  and  rich  reward  of  thy  Father  in 
Heaven!  J.  Russell. 


LESSON     V. 
ANECDOTE    OF    WASHINGTON. 

1.  In  1780,  while  the  American  army  was  stationed 
at  West  Point,  Mr.  C.  S.  was  one  of  the  contractors 
for  supplying  fresh  provisions.  At  several  times,  when 
the  high  price  of  cattle  threatened  to  make  the  fulfill- 
ment of  the  terms  of  the  contract  not  quite  so  lucrative 
as  it  was  by  him  originally  calculated,  he  failed  to  furnish 
the  requisite  supply. 


WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER.  25 

2.  Whenever  this  failure  occurred,  he  sent  to  the 
quarter-master  of  each  regiment  a  certificate,  specifying 
that  there  was  due  to  such  a  regiment  so  many  rations 
of  beef.  These  certificates  did  pretty  well  for  awhile, 
and  the  privation  was  borne  with  characteristic  patience 
by  a  soldiery  accustomed  to  hardships,  and  ready  to 
endure  any  thing  in  the  cause  of  liberty  and  their 
country. 

3.  But  even  patience  has  its  limits :  the  cause  of  the 
omission  became  understood,  and  dissatisfaction  mani- 
fested itself  throughout  the  ranks.  Remonstrances  from 
the  subordinate  officers  had  been  recently  made,  and 
promises  of  amendment  repeatedly  given,  until  at  last, 
finding  that  nothing  but  promises  came,  it  was  found 
necessary  to  complain  to  the  commander-in-chief. 

4.  Washington,  after  hearing  the  story,  gave  imme- 
diate orders  for  the  arrest  of  Mr.  C.  S.  Upon  being 
brought  into  the  army,  and  placed  under  guard,  the 
officer  having  him  in  charge  waited  upon  the  General, 
to  apprise  him  of  the  fact,  and  to  inquire  in  what  way, 
and  by  whom,  the  prisoner  was  to  be  fed  ?  "  Give 
yourself  no  trouble,  sir,"  said  Washington ;  "  the  gentle- 
man will  be  supplied  from  my  table. " 

5.  The  several  hours  of  breakfast,  dinner,  and  supper 
passed,  but  not  a  mouthful  was  furnished  to  the  delin- 
quent prisoner.  On  the  ensuing  day,  at  an  early  hour 
in  the  morning,  a  waiter  in  the  livery  of  the  General, 
was  seen  bearing  upon  a  silver  salver  all  the  seeming 
-equisites  for  a  meal,  carefully  covered,  and  wending 
his  way  to  the  prisoner's  room. 

6.  Upon  raising  the  cover,  besides  the  apparatus  for 
breakfast,  there  was  found  nothing  more  than  a  certifi- 
cate that  there  was  due  to  Mr.  C.  S.  one  breakfast,  one 
dinner,  and  one  supper,  and  signed  "  G.  Washington." 

7.  After  the  lapse  of  a  reasonable  time,  the  delinquent 


26  WEBB'S  FOURTH  HEADER. 

was  conveyed  to  head-quarters,  when  Washington,  in 
his  peculiar  significant  and  emphatic  way,  addressed  him 
with — 

8.  "  Well,  Mr.  S.,  I  presume,  by  this  time,  you  are 
perfectly  convinced  how  inadequate  to  satisfy  the  cra- 
vings of  hunger  is  the  certificate  of  a  meal.  I  trust, 
after  this,  you  will  furnish  no  further  occasion  for  com- 
plaint." Then,  inviting  Mr.  S.  to  share  in  the  meal  to 
which  he  was  just  sitting  down,  he  improved  the  lesson 
by  some  friendly  admonition,  and  gave  orders  for  his 
discharge. 


LESSON  VI. 


DIALOGUE  ON  PHYSIOGNOMY. 


Frank.  It  appears  strange  to  me  that  people  can  be 
so  imposed  upon.  There  is  no  difficulty  in  judging 
people  by  their  looks.  I  profess  to  know  as  much  about 
man  at  the  first  view,  as  by  a  half  dozen  years'  ac- 
quaintance. 

Henry.  Pray,  how  is  that  done?  I  should  like  to 
learn  the  art. 

F.  Did  you  ever  read  Lavater  on  Physiognomy  ? 

H.  No.  What  do  you  mean  by  that  hard  word  ? 

F.  Physiognomy  means  a  knowledge  of  men's  hearts, 
thoughts,  and  characters  by  their  looks.  For  instance : 
if  you  see  a  man  with  a  forehead  jutting  over  his  eyes 
like  a  piazza,  with  a  pair  of  eyebrows  heavy  like 
the  cornice  of  a  house,  with  full  eyes  and  a  Roman 
nose, — depend  on  it,  he  is  a  great  scholar  and  an  honest 
man. 

H.  It  seems  to  me  that  I  should  rather  go  below  his 
nose  to  discover  his  scholarship. 


WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER.  27 

F.  By  no  means.  If  you  look  for  beauty  .you  may 
descend  to  the  mouth  and  chin ;  otherwise,  never  go 
below  the  region  of  the  brain. 

(Enter  George.) 
George.  Well,  1  have  just  been  to  see  the  man  hang- 
ed, and,  Frank,  he  has  gone  to  the  other  world  with  just 
such  a  great  forehead  and    Roman  nose  as  you  have 
always  been  praising. 

F.  Remember,  George,  all  signs  fail  in  dry  weather. 

G.  Now  be  honest,  Frank,  and  own  that  there  is 
nothing  in  all  this  science  of  yours.  The  only  way  to 
know  men  is  by  their  actions.  If  a  man  commits  bur- 
glary, think  you  a  Roman  nose  ought  to  save  him  from 
punishment  ? 

F.  1  do  not  carry  my  notions  so  far  as  that ;  but  it  is 
certain  that  all  the  faces  in  the  world  are  different ;  and 
it  is  equally  true  that  each  has  some  marks  about  it,  by 
which  one  can  discover  the  temper  and  character  of 
the  person. 

(Enter  Peter.) 

Peter,  (to  Frank.)  Sir,  I  have  heard  of  your  fame 
from  Dan  to  Beersheba, — that  you  can  know  a  man 
by  his  face,  and  can  tell  his  thoughts  by  his  looks. 
Hearing  this,  I  have  visited  you  without  the  ceremony 
of  an  introduction. 

F.  Why,  indeed,  I  profess  something  in  that  way. 

P.  By  that  forehead,  nose,  and  those  eyes  of  yours, 
one  might  be  sure  of  an  acute,  penetrating  mind. 

F.  I  see  that  you  are  not  ignorant  of  physiognomy. 

P.  I  am  not ;  but  still  I  am  so  far  from  being  an 
adept  in  the  art,  that  unless  the  features  are  very  re- 
markable, 1  can  not  determine  with  certainty.  But 
yours  is  the  most  striking  face  I  ever  saw.  There  is  a 
certain  firmness  in  the  lines  which  lead  from  the  outer 


28  WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER. 


verge  to  the  center  of  the  apple  of  your  eye,  which  de- 
notes great  forecast,  deep  thought,  bright  invention,  and 
a  genius  for  great  purposes. 

F.  You  are  a  perfect  master  of  the  art.  And  to 
show  you  that  I  know  something  of  it,  permit  me  to 
observe,  that  the  form  of  your  face  denotes  frankness, 
truth,  and  honesty.  Your  heart  is  a  stranger  to  guile, 
your  lips  to  deceit,  and  your  hands  to  fraud. 

P.  I  must  confess  that  you  have  hit  upon  my  true 
character,  though  a  different  one  from  what  I  have  sus- 
tained in  the  view  of  the  world. 

F.  (To  Henry  and  George.)  Now  see  two  strong  ex- 
amples of  the  truth  of  physiognomy.  (While  he  is  say- 
ing  this,  Peter  takes  out  his  pocket-book  and  makes  off 
with  himself.)  Now,  can  you  conceive,  that,  without 
this  knowledge,  I  could  fathom  the  character  of  a  total 
stranger  ? 

II.  Pray,  tell  us  by  what  marks  you  discovered  that 
in  his  heart  there  is  no  guile,  and  in  his  hands  no  fraud? 

F.  Ay,  leave  that  to  me ;  we  are  not  to  reveal  our 
secrets.  But  I  will  show  you  a  face  and  character 
which  exactly  suit  him.  (Feels  for  his  pocket-book  in 
both  pockets,  looks  wild  and  concerned.) 

G.  (Tauntingly.)  Ay,  "in  his  heart  is  no  guile, 
in  his  lips  no  deceit,  and  in  his  hands  no  fraud '  Now 
we  see  a  strong  example  of  the  power  of  physiognomy  !" 

F.  He  is  a  wretch  !  a  traitor  against  every  good 
sign !  I  will  pursue  him  to  the  ends  of  the  earth.  (Of- 
fers to  go.) 

H.  Stop  a  moment.  His  firm,  honest  face  is  far 
enough  before  this  time.  You  have  not  yet  discovered 
the  worst  injury  he  has  done  you. 

F.  What  is  that?     I  had  no  watch  for  him  to  steal. 

H.  By  his  deceitful  lips  he  has  robbed  vou  of  any 
just  conception  of  yourself.     He  has  betrajed  you  into 


WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER.  29 

a  foolish  belief  that  you  are  possessed  of  most  extra- 
ordinary genius  and  talents.  Whereas,  separate  from 
the  idle  whim  about  physiognomy  you  have  no  more 
claim  to  genius  or  learning  than  a  common  school-boy. 
Learn  henceforth  to  estimate  men's  hands  by  their 
deeds,  their  lips  by  their  words,  and  their  hearts  by 
their  lives. 

{John,  who  had  been  a  silent  listener  and  observer  till 
now,  speaks.) 

John.  Gentlemen,  you  are  all  right  and  all  wrong. 
Your  ideas  are  contracted  and  set.  You,  Frank,  have 
made  too  great  a  hobby  of  your  science  You  have 
depended  on  that  alone,  when  it  can  be  trusted  only  in 
company  with  its  sister  sciences,  phrenology  and  physi- 
ology. These  three  go  hand  in  hand.  And  a  thorough 
knowledge,  gentlemen,  of  these  sciences,  will  give  you 
the  true  key  to  the  "  hearts,  thoughts,  and  characters'' 
of  men. 


LESSON   VII. 

DEAL  GENTLY  WITH  THE  ERRING. 

1.  A  man  possesses  an  extremely  low  and  groveling 
mind,  who  rejoices  at  the  downfall  of  another.  A  noble 
heart,  instead  of  denouncing  as  a  consummate  scoun- 
drel, one  who  has  erred,  will  throw  around  him  the 
mantle  of  charity  and  the  arms  of  love,  and  labor  to 
bring  him  back  to  duty  and  to  God. 

2.  We  are  not  our  own  keepers. — Who  knows  when 
we  shall  so  far  forget  ourselves  as  to  put  forth  a  right 
hand  and  sin  ?  Heaven  keeps  us  in  the  narrow  path. 
But,  if  we  should  fall,  where  would  be  the  end  of  our 


30  WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER. 

course,  if  in  every  face  we  saw  a  frown,  and  on  every 
brow  we  read  vengeance  ? 

3.  Deeper  and  deeper  would  we  descend  in  the  path 
of  infamy ;  when,  if  a  different  course  were  pursued, 
and  if  a  different  spirit  were  manifested  toward  us,  we 
might  have  stayed  our  career  of  sin,  and  died  an  up- 
right and  honest  man. 

4.  Deal  gently  with  those  who  stray.  Draw  them 
back  by  love  and  persuasion.  A  kind  word  is  more 
valuable  to  the  lost  than  a  mine  of  gold.  Think  of  this, 
and  be  on  your  guard,  ye  who  would  chase  to  the  con 
fines  of  the  grave  an  erring  brother. 

5.  Chide  mildly  the  erring  ! 

Kind  language  endears : 
Grief  follows  the  sinful — 
Add  not  to  their  tears. 

6.  Avoid  with  reproaches 

Fresh  pain  to  bestow, — 
The  heart  that  is  stricken 
Needs  never  a  blow. 

7.  Chide  mildly  the  erring ! 

Jeer  not  at  their  fall : 
If  strength  were  but  human, 
How  weakly  were  all ! 

8.  What  marvel  that  footsteps 

Should  wander  astray, 

When  tempests  so  shadow 

Life's  wearisome  way  ! 

9.  Chide  mildly  the  erring  ! 

Entreat  them  with  care  ; 
Their  natures  are  mortal, — 
They  need  not  despair. 


webb's  fourth  reader.       31 

10.  We  all  have  some  frailty — 
We  all  are  unwise — 
And  the  grace  which  redeems  us, 
Must  come  from  the  skies  ! 


LESSON  VIII. 

THE     TOWN     PUMP. 

1.  Noon,  by  the  north  clock!  Noon,  by  the  east! 
High  noon,  too,  by  those  hot  sunbeams  which  fall, 
scarcely  aslope,  upon  my  head,  and  almost  make  the 
water  bubble  and  smoke  in  the  trough  under  my  nose. 
Truly,  we  public  characters  have  a  tough  time  of  it ! 
And  among  all  the  town  officers,  chosen  at  the  yearly 
meeting,  where  is  he  that  sustains,  for  a  single  year,  the 
burden  of  such  manifold  duties  as  are  imposed,  in  per- 
petuity, upon  the  Town  Pump  ? 

2.  The  title  of  town  treasurer  is  rightfully  mine,  as 
guardian  of  the  best  treasure  the  town  has.  The  over- 
seers of  the  poor  ought  to  make  me  their  chairman,  since 
I  provide  bountifully  for  the  pauper,  without  expense  to 
him  that  pays  taxes.  I  am  at  the  head  of  the  fire  de- 
partment, and  one  of  the  physicians  of  the  board  of 
health.  As  a  keeper  of  the  peace,  all  water  drinkers 
confess  me  equal  to  the  constable.  I  perform  some  of 
the  duties  of  the  town  clerk,  by  promulgating  public 
notices,  when  they  are  pasted  on  my  front. 

3.  To  speak  within  bounds,  I  am  chief  person  of  the 
municipality,  and  exhibit,  moreover,  an  admirable  pat- 
tern to  my  brother  officers,  by  the  cool,  steady,  upright, 
downright,  anc  impartial  discharge  of  my  business,  and 
the  constancy  with  which  I  stand  to  my  post.  Summer 
or  winter,  nobody  seeks  me  in  vain ;  for  all  day  long  I 


32  WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER. 

am  seen  at  the  busiest  corner,  just  above  the  market, 
stretching  out  my  arms  to  rich  and  poor  alike  ;  and  at 
night  I  hold  a  lantern  over  my  head,  both  to  show 
where  I  am,  and  to  keep  people  out  of  the  gutters. 

4.  At  this  sultry  noontide,  I  am  cup-bearer  to  the 
parched  populace,  for  whose  benefit  an  iron  goblet  is 
chained  to  my  waist.  Like  a  dram-seller  on  the  public 
square,  on  a  muster-day,  I  cry  aloud  to  all,  and  in 
my  plainest  accents,  and  at  the  very  tip-top  of  my 
voice,  Here  it  is,  gentlemen !  Here  is  the  good  liquor  ! 
Walk  up,  walk  up,  gentlemen!  Walk  up,  walk  up! 
Here  is  the  superior  stuff!  Here  is  the  unadulterated 
ale  of  father  Adam!  better  than  Cogniac,  Hollands,  Ja- 
maica, strong  beer,  or  wine  of  any  price ;  here  it  is,  by 
the  hogshead  or  the  single  glass,  and  not  a  cent  to  pay  ! 
Walk  up,  gentlemen,  walk  up,  and  help  yourselves  ! 

5.  It  were  a  pity,  if  all  this  outcry  should  draw  no 
customers.  Here  they  come.  A  hot  day,  gentlemen  ! 
Quaff,  and  away  again,  so  as  to  keep  yourselves  in  a  nice 
cool  sweat.  You,  my  friend,  will  need  another  cupfull, 
to  wash  the  dust  out  of  your  throat,  if  it  be  as  thick 
there  as  it  is  on  your  cowhide  shoes.  I  see  that  you 
have  trudged  half  a  score  of  miles  to-day,  and,  like  a 
wise  man,  have  passed  by  the  taverns,  and  stopped  at 
the  running  brooks  and  well-curbs.  Otherwise,  betwixt 
heat  without  and  fire  within,  you  would  have  been  burnt 
to  a  cinder,  or  melted  down  to  nothing  at  all,  in  the 
fashion  of  a  jelly  fish. 

G.  Drink,  and  make  room  for  that  other  fellow,  who 
seeks  my  aid  to  quench  the  fiery  fever  of  last  nightV 
potations,  which  he  drained  from  no  cup  of  mine. 
Welcome,  most  rubicund  sir !  You  and  I  have  been 
great  strangers  hitherto  ;  nor,  to  confess  the  truth,  will 
my  nose  be  anxious  for  a  closer  intimacy,  till  the  fumes 
of  your  breath  be  a  little  less  potent. 


WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER.  33 

7.  Mercy  on  you,  man !  The  water  absolutely  hisses 
down  your  red-hut  gullet,  and  is  converted  quite  into 
steam,  in  the  rriiniature  Tophet  which  you  mistake  for 
a  stomach.  Fill  again,  and  tell  me,  on  the  word  of  an 
honest  toper,  did  you  ever,  in  cellar,  tavern,  or  any  other 
kind  of  dram-shop,  spend  the  price  of  your  children's 
food  for  a  swig  half  so  delicious  ?  Now,  for  the  first 
time  these  ten  years,  you  know  the  flavor  of  cold  water. 
Good-by ;  and  whenever  you  are  thirsty,  recollect  that 
I  keep  a  constant  supply,  at  the  old  stand. 

8.  Who  next  ?  Oh,  my  little  friend,  you  are  just  let 
loose  from  school,  and  come  hither  to  scrub  your  bloom- 
ing face,  and  drown  the  memory  of  certain  taps  of  the 
ferule,  and  other  school-boy  troubles,  in  a  draught  from 
the  Town  Pump.  Take  it,  pure  as  the  current  of  your 
young  life :  take  it,  and  may  your  heart  and  tongue 
never  be  scorched  with  a  fiercer  thirst  than  now. 

9.  There,  my  dear  child,  put  down  the  cup,  and  yield 
your  place  to  this  elderly  gentleman,  who  treads  so  ten- 
derly over  the  paving-stones,  that  I  suspect  he  is  afraid 
of  breaking  them.  What!  he  limps  by,  without  so  much 
as  thanking  me,  as  if  my  hospitable  offers  were  meant 
only  for  people  who  have  no  wine-cellars. 

10.  Well,  well,  sir ;  no  harm  done,  I  hope !  Go,  draw 
the  cork,  tip  the  decanter;  but  when  your  great  toe 
shall  set  you  a  roaring,  it  will  be  no  affair  of  mine.  If 
gentlemen  love  the  pleasant  titillation  of  the  gout,  it  is 
all  one  to  the  Town  Pump.  This  thirsty  dog,  with  his 
red  tongue  lolling  out,  does  not  scorn  my  hospitality,  but 
stands  on  his  hind  legs,  and  laps  eagerly  out  of  the 
trough.  See  how  lightly  he  capers  away  again !  Jowler, 
did  your  worship  ever  have  the  gout  ? 

11.  Your  pardon,  good  people!  I  must  interrupt  my 
stream  of  eloquence,  and  spout  forth  a  stream  of  water, 
to  replenish  the  trough  for  this  teamster  and  his  tv/o 


34  WEBB'S  FOURTH  HEADER. 

yoke  of  oxen,  who  have  come  all  the  way  from  Staun- 
ton, or  somewhere  along  that  way.  No  part  of  my 
business  gives  me  more  pleasure  than  the  watering  of 
cattle.  Look  !  how  rapidly  they  lower  the  water-mark 
on  the  sides  of  the  trough,  till  their  capacious  stomachs 
are  moistened  with  a  gallon  or  two  apiece,  and  they  can 
afTord  time  to  breathe,  with  sighs  of  calm  enjoyment. 
Now,  they  roll  their  quiet  eyes  around  the  brim  of  their 
monstrous  drinking  vessel.     An  ox  is  your  true  toper. 

12.  I  hold  myself  the  grand  reformer  of  the  age. 
From  my  spout,  and  such  spouts  as  mine,  must  flow  the 
stream  that  shall  cleanse  our  earth  of  a  vast  portion  of 
its  crime  and  anguish,  which  has  gushed  from  the  fiery 
fountains  of  the  still.  In  this  mighty  enterprise,  the  cow 
shall  be  my  great  confederate.     Milk  and  water ! 

13.  Ahem  !  Dry  work,  this  speechifying,  especially 
to  all  unpracticed  orators.  I  never  conceived,  till  now, 
what  toil  the  temperance  lecturers  undergo  for  my  sake. 
Do,  some  kind  Christian,  pump  a  stroke  or  two,  just  to 
wet  my  whistle.     Thank  you,  sir.     But  to  proceed. 

14.  The  Town  Pump  and  the  Cow.  Such  is  the  glo- 
rious partnership  that  shall  finally  monopolize  the  whole 
business  of  quenching  thirst.  Blessed  consummation ! 
Then,  Poverty  shall  pass  away  from  the  land,  finding  no 
hovel  so  wretched,  where  her  squalid  form  may  shelter 
itself.  Then,  Disease,  for  lack  of  other  victims,  shall 
gnaw  his  own  heart,  and  die.  Then,  Sin,  if  she  do  not 
die,  shall  lose  half  her  strength. 

15.  Then,  there  will  be  no  war  of  households.  The 
husband  and  the  wife,  drinking  deep'  of  peaceful  joy,  a 
calm  bliss  of  temperate  affections,  shall  pass  hand  in 
hand  through  life,  and  lie  down,  not  reluctantly,  at  its 
protracted  close.  To  them,  the  past  will  be  no  turmoil 
of  mad  dreams,  nor  the  future  an  eternity  of  such  mo- 
ments as  follow  the  delirium  of  the  drunkard.     Their 


WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER.  35 

dead  faces  shall  express  what  their  spirits  were,  and  are 
to  be,  by  a  lingering  smile  of  memory  and  hope ! 

16.  Drink,  then,  and  be  refreshed  !  The  water  is  as 
pure  and  cold  as  when  it  slaked  the  thirst  of  the  red 
hunter,  and  flowed  beneath  the  aged  bough,  though  now 
this  gem  of  the  wilderness  is  treasured  under  these  hot 
stones,  where  no  shadow  falls  but  from  the  brick  build- 
ings. But  still  is  this  fountain  the  source  of  health, 
peace,  and  happiness,  and  I  behold  with  certainty  and 
joy  the  approach  of  the  period,  when  the  virtues  of  cold 
water,  too  little  valued  since  our  fathers'  days,  will  be 
fully  appreciated  and  recognized  by  all.         Hawthorne. 


LESSON  IX. 

PLEASURE  IS  CHEAP. 

1.  Did  you  ever  study  the  cheapness  of  pleasure? 
Do  you  know  how  little  it  takes  to  make  the  multitude 
happy  ?  Such  trifles  as  a  penny,  a  word,  and  a  smile,  do 
the  work.  There  are  two  or  three  boys  passing  alonsj 
— give  them  each  a  chestnut,  and  how  smiling  they  look! 
they  will  not  be  cross  for  an  hour.  •  A  poor  widow  lives 
in  our  neighborhood,  who  is  the  owner  of  half  a  dozen 
children ;  send  in  half  a  peck  of  sweet  apples,  and  they 
will  all  be  happy. 

2.  A  child  has  lost  his  arrow — all  the  world  to  him 
— and  he  mourns  sadly ;  help  him  find  it,  or  make  him 
another,  and  how  quickly  will  the  sunshine  play  upon 
his  sober  face.  A  boy  has  as  much  as  he  can  do  to 
pile  up  a  load  of  wood ;  assist  him  a  few  moments,  or 
speak  a  pleasant  word  to  him,  and  he  forgets  his  task, 
and  works  away  without  minding  it, 


36  WEBB'S  FOURTH  HEADER. 

3.  Your  apprentice  has  broken  a  mug,  or  cut  the 
vest  too  large,  or  he  has  "  left  an  out,"  or  "  pied  a  stick- 
ful ;"  say,  "You  scoundrel !"  and  he  feels  miserable; 
but  remark,  "  I  am  sorry — try  to  do  better,"  and  he  wiJ 
be  cheerful  and  endeavor  to  do  so. 

4.  You  employ  a  man :  pay  him  cheerfully  and  speak 
a  pleasant  word  to  him  :  he  leaves  your  house  with  a 
contented  heart,  to  light  up  his  hearth  with  smiles  of 
gladness.  As  you  pass  along  the  street,  you  meet 
many  a  familiar  face ;  say,  "  Good  morning,"  as  though 
you  felt  happy,  and  it  will  work  admirably  in  the  heart 
of  your  neighbor. 

5.  Pleasure  is  cheap ;  who  will  not  bestow  it  liber- 
ally ?  If  there  are  smiles,  sunshine,  and  flowers  all 
about  us,  let  us  not  grasp  them  with  a  miser's  fist,  and 
lock  them  hermetically  in  our  hearts.  No!  Rather, 
let  us  take  them  and  scatter  them  about  us,  in  the  cot 
of  the  widow,  among  the  groups  of  children  in  the 
crowded  mart,  where  men  of  business  congregate,  in 
our  families,  and  everywhere.  We  can  make  the 
wretched  happy,  the  discontented  cheerful,  the  vicious 
virtuous,  at  an  exceedingly  cheap  rate.  Who  will  re- 
fuse to  do  it  ? 

6.  Her  met'  i  cal  ly,  closely. 


LESSON  X. 

THE  TWO  BROTHERS. 

1.  The  following  beautiful  Arabian  legend  we  copy 
fiom  the  "Voice  of  Jacob." 

2.  The  site  occupied  by  the  temple  of  Solomon  was 
formerly  a  cultivated  field,  possessed  in  common  by 


WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER.  37 

two  brothers.  One  of  them  was  married  and  had  sev- 
eral children  ;  the  other  was  unmarried.  They  lived 
together,  however,  cultivating,  in  the  greatest  harmony 
possible,  the  property  they  had  inherited  from  their 
father. 

3.  The  harvest  soon  arrived.  The  two  brothers 
bound  up  their  sheaves,  and  made  two  equal  stacks  of 
them,  and  laid  them  on  the  field.  During  the  night 
the  unmarried  brother  was  struck  with  an  excellent 
thought.  "  My  brother,"  said  lae  to  himself,  "  has  a 
wife  and  children  to  support ;  it  is  not  just  that  my 
share  of  the  harvest  should  be  as  large  as  his." 

4.  Upon  this  he  arose,  and  took  from  his  stack  sev- 
eral sheaves,  which  he  added  to  those  of  his  brother ; 
and  this  he  did  with  as  much  secrecy  as  though  he  had 
been  committing  an  evil  action,  so  that  his  brotherly 
offering  might  not  be  refused. 

5.  On  the  same  night  the  other  brother  awoke,  and 
said  to  his  wife,  "  My  brother  lives  alone  without  a 
companion ;  he  has  no  one  to  assist  him  in  his  labor, 
nor  to  reward  him  for  his  toils,  while  God  has  bestowed 
on  me  a  wife  and  children ;  it  is  not  right  that  we 
should  take  from  our  common  field  as  many  sheaves  as 
he,  since  we  have  already  more  than  he  has — domestic 
happiness. 

6.  "If  you  consent,  we  shall, by  adding  secretly  a  cer- 
tain number  of  sheaves  to  his  stack,  by  way  of  compen- 
sation, and  without  his  knowledge,  see  his  portion  of 
the  harvest  increase."  The  project  was  approved,  and 
immediately  put  into  execution. 

7.  In  the  morning  each  of  the  brothers  went  to  the 
field,  and  were  much  surprised  at  seeing  the  stacks 
equal.  During  several  successive  nights  the  same  per- 
formance was  repeated  on  both  sides  :  each  kept  adding 
to  his  brother's  store ;  and  on  each  successive  morning 


38  WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER. 

both  were  surprised  to  find  that  the  stacks  remained  the 
same.  But  one  night,  both  having  stood  sentry  to  dive 
into  the  cause  of  this  miracle,  they  met,  each  bearing 
the  sheaves  mutually  destined  for  the  other.  It  was 
thus  all  elucidated,  and  they  rushed  into  each  other's 
arms,  each  grateful  to  heaven  for  having  so  good  a 
brother. 

8.  Now,  says  the  legend,  the  place  where  so  good  an 
idea  simultaneously  occurred  to  the  two  brothers,  must 
have  been  acceptable  to  God.  Men  blessed  it,  and 
Israel  chose  it,  there  to  erect  the  house  of  God. 

1.  Le'  gend,  a  fable,  7.  E  lu'  ci  dat  ed,  explained. 


LESSON  XL 


IT  SNOWS. 


1.  "It  snows !"  cries  the  schoolboy — "  hurrah  P  and  his  shout 

Is  ringing  through  parlor  and  hall, 
While  swift  as  the  wing  of  the  swallow  he's  out, 

And  his  playmates  have  answered  his  call ; 
It  makes  the  heart  leap  but  to  witness  their  joy — 

Proud  wealth  has  no  pleasure,  I  trow, 
Like  the  rapture  that  throbs  in  the  pulse  of  the  boy, 

As  he  gathers  his  treasures  of  snow : 
Then  lay  not  the  trappings  of  gold  on  thine  heirs, 
While  wealth  and  the  riches  of  nature  are  theirs. 

2.  "  It  snows !"  cries  the  traveler — "  Ho  !"  and  the  word 

I  his  quickened  his  steed's  lagging  pace ; 
The  wind  rushes  by,  but  its  howl  is  unheard — 

Unfelt  the  sharp  drift  in  his  face ; 
For  bright  through  the  tempest  his  own  home  appeared — 


WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER.  39 

Ay,  though  leagues  intervene,  he  can  see ; 
There's  the  clear,  glowing  hearth,  and  the  table  prepared, 

And  his  wife  with  her  babe  on  her  knee. 
Blest  thought !  how  it  lightens  the  grief-laden  hour, 
That  those  we  love  dearest  are  safe  from  its  power. 

3.  "  It  snows !"  cries  the  belle — "Dear,  how  lucky !"  and  turns 

From  the  mirror  to  watch  the  flakes  fall ; 
Like  the  first  rose  of  summer  her  dimpled  cheek  burns, 

While  musing  on  sleigh-ride  and  ball ; 
There  are  visions  of  conquests,  of  splendor  and  mirth, 

Floating  over  each  drear  winter  day ; 
But  the  tidings  of  Hope,  on  this  storm-beaten  earth, 

Will  melt  like  the  snow-flakes  away : 
Turn,  turn  thee  to  Heaven,  fair  maiden,  for  bliss, 
That  world  has  a  pure  fount  ne'er  opened  in  this. 

4.  *  It  snows !"  cries  the  widow — "  Oh,  God  !"  and  her  sighs 

Have  stifled  the  voice  of  her  prayer ; 
Its  burden  ye'll  read  in  her  tear-swollen  eyes, 

On  her  cheek  sunk  with  fasting  and  care. 
'Tis  ninrht — and  her  fatherless  ask  her  for  bread — 

o 

But  "  He  gives  the  young  ravens  their  food," 
And  she  trusts  till  her  dark  hearth  adds  horror  to  dread, 

As  she  lays  on  her  last  chip  of  wood. 
Poor  sufttrer !  that  sorrow  thy  God  only  knows — 
'Tis  a  most  bitter  lot  to  be  poor  when  it  snows ! 

Mbb.  S.  J.  Hale. 


LESSON  XII. 

1HE  FOOL'S  REPROOF. 

1.  There  was  a  certain  nobleman,  says  Bishop  Hall, 
who  kept  a  fool,  to  whom  he  one  day  gave  a  staff, 
with  a  charge  to  keep  it,  till  he  should  meet  with  one 
who  was  a  greater  fool  than  himself. 


40        webb's  fourth  readek. 

2.  Not  many  years  after,  the  nobleman  fell  sick,  and 
did  not  expect  to  live.  The  fool  came  to  see  him.  His 
sick  lord  said  to  him,  "  I  must  shortly  leave  you." 

3.  "  And  whither  are  you  going  ?" — "  Into  another 
world." — "  And  when  will  you  come  again  ?  With- 
in a  month?" — "No." — "Within  a  year?" — "No." — 
"  When  then  ?"— "  Never." 

4.  "Never!"  said  the  fool;  "and  what  provision  hast 
thou  made  for  thy  entertainment  there  whither  thou 
goest?" — "None  at  all." — "No?  none  at  all  ?  Here, 
then,  take  my  staff;  for,  with  all  my  folly,  I  am  not 
guilty  of  any  such  folly  as  this." 


LESSON  XIII. 

THE  FARMER  AND  THE  EARL. 

1.  A  farmer  called  on  Earl  Fitzwilliam  to  represent 
that  his  crop  of  wheat  had  been  seriously  injured  in  a 
field  adjoining  a  certain  wood,  where  the  earl's  hounds 
had,  during  the  winter,  frequently  met  to  hunt.  He 
stated  that  the  young  wheat  had  been  so  cut  up  and 
destroyed,  that  in  some  parts  he  could  not  hope  for  any 
produce. 

2.  "Well,  my  friend,"  said  his  lordship,  "I  am  well 
aware  that  we  have  frequently  met  in  that  field,  and 
that  we  have  done  considerable  injury.  If  you  will 
procure  an  estimate  of  the  loss  you  have  sustained,  I 
will  repay  you." 

3.  The  farmer  replied,  that,  anticipating  his  lordship's 
consideration  and  kindness,  he  had  requested  a  friend  to 
assist  him  in  estimating  the  damage,  and  they  thought 
that,   as  the  crop   was  so  much  injured,  fifty  pounds 


WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER.  41 

would  not  more  than  repay  him.     The  earl  immediately 
gave  him  the  money. 

4.  As  the  harvest,  however,  approached,  the  wheat 
grew,  and  in  those  parts  of  the  field  that  were  most 
trampled,  the  wheat  was  the  strongest  and  most  lux- 
uriant. The  farmer  went  again  to  his  lordship,  and 
being  introduced,  said,  "  I  am  come,  my  lord,  respecting 
the  field  of  wheat  adjoining  such  a  wood." 

5.  His  lordship  instantly  recollected  the  circum- 
stances. "  Well,  my  friend,  did  I  not  allow  you  suffi- 
cient to  remunerate  you  for  your  loss  ?" 

6.  "  Yes,  my  lord  ;  I  have  found  that  I  have  sustained 
no  loss  at  all ;  for  where  the  hounds  had  most  cut  up 
the  land,  the  crop  is  most  promising ;  and  I  have,  there- 
fore, brought  the  fifty  pounds  back  again." 

7.  "  Ah !"  exclaimed  the  venerable  earl,  "  that  is  what 
I  like  ;  this  is  what  ought  to  be  between  man  and  man." 
He  then  went  into  another  room,  and,  returning,  pre- 
sented the  farmer  a  check  for  one  hundred  pounds. 

8.  "  Take  care  of  this,"  said  he,  "  and  when  your 
eldest  son  is  of  age,  present  it  to  him,  and  tell  him  the 
occasion  that  produced  it." 

9.  We  know  not  which  we  ought  most  to  admire,  the 
benevolence  or  the  wisdom  displayed  by  this  illustrious 
man ;  for,  while  doing  a  noble  act  of  generosity,  he  was 
handing  down  a  lesson  of  integrity  to  another  genera- 
tion. 


LESSON  XIV. 

I  HAVE  LOST  MY  FORTUNE. 

1.  It  is  important  that  young  females  should  possess 
some  employment  by  which  they  may  obtain  a  liveli- 
hood in  case  they  should  be  reduced  to  the  necessity  of 


42  WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER. 

supporting  themselves.  When  families  are  unexpected- 
ly reduced  from  affluence  to  poverty,  how  pitiful  it  is  to 
see  the  mother  desponding,  or  helpless,  and  permitting 
her  daughters  to  embarrass  those  whom  it  is  their  duty 
to  assist  and  cheer ! 

2.  "  I  have  lost  my  whole  fortune,"  said  a  merchant, 
as  he  returned  one  evening  to  his  home.  "  We  can  no 
longer  keep  our  carriage.  We  must  leave  this  large 
house.  Yesterday  I  was  a  rich  man.  To-day,  there  is 
nothing  I  can  call  my  own." 

3.  "  Dear  husband,"  said  the  wife,  "  we  are  still  rich 
in  each  other  and  our  children.  Money  may  pass  away, 
but  God  has  given  us  a  better  treasure  in  those  active 
hands  and  loving  hearts." 

4.  "  Dear  father,"  said  the  children,  "  do  not  look  so 
sober.     We  will  help  you  to  get  a  living." 

5.  "  What  can  you  do,  poor  things  ?"   said  he. 

6.  "  You  shall  see,  you  shall  see,"  answered  several 
cheerful  voices.  "  It  is  a  pity  if  we  have  been  to  school 
for  nothing.  How  can  the  father  of  eight  children  be 
poor  ?    We  shall  work,  and  make  you  rich  again." 

7.  "  I  shall  help,"  said  the  youngest  girl,  hardly  four 
years  old.  "  I  will  not  have  any  new  things  bought, 
and  I  shall  sell  my  great  doll." 

8.  The  heart  of  the  husband  and  father,  which  had 
sunk  within  his  bosom  like  a  stone,  was  lifted  up.  The 
sweet  enthusiasm  of  the  scene  cheered  him,  and  his 
nightly  prayer  was  like  a  song  of  praise. 

9.  They  left  their  stately  house.  The  servants  were 
dismissed.  Pictures  and  plate,  rich  carpets  and  furni- 
ture, were  sold,  and  she  who  had  been  so  long  mistress 
of  the  mansion  shed  no  tear.  "  Pay  every  debt,"  says 
she  ;  "  let  no  one  suffer  through  us,  and  we  may  yet  be 
happy." 

10.  He  rented  a  neat  cottage,  and  a  small  piece  of 


WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER.  43 

ground  a  few  miles  from  the  city.  With  the  aid  of  his 
sons,  he  cultivated  vegetables  for  the  market.  He 
viewed  with  delight  and  astonishment,  the  economy  of 
his  wife,  nurtured,  as  she  had  been,  in  wealth,  and  the 
efficiency  which  his  daughters  soon  acquired  under  her 
training. 

11.  The  eldest  one  assisted  her  in  the  work  of  the 
household,  and  also  assisted  the  younger  children  in 
their  lessons.  Besides,  they  executed  various  works, 
which  they  had  learned  as  accomplishments,  but  whic'h 
they  found  could  be  disposed  of  to  advantage.  They 
embroidered  with  taste  some  of  the  ornamental  parts  of 
female  apparel,  which  they  readily  sold  to  a  merchant 
in  the  city. 

12.  They  cultivated  flowers,  and  sent  bouquets  to 
market  in  the  cart  that  conveyed  the  vegetables ;  they 
platted  straw,  painted  maps,  and  executed  plain  needle- 
work. Every  one  was  at  her  post,  busy  and  cheerful. 
The  cottage  was  like  a  beehive. 

13.  "I  never  enjoyed  such  health  before,"  said  the 
father. 

14.  "  And  I  never  was  so  happy  before,"  said  the  mo- 
ther. 

15.  "  We  never  knew  how  many  things  we  could  do, 
when  we  lived  in  the  great  house,"  said  the  children ; 
"  and  we  love  each  other  a  great  deal  better  here.  You 
call  us  your  little  bees." 

16.  "  Yes,"  replied  the  father,  "  and  you  make  just 
such  honey  as  the  heart  loves  to  feed  on." 

17.  Economy,  as  well  as  industry,  was  strictly  ob- 
served ;  nothing  was  wasted  ;  nothing  unnecessary  was 
purchased.  The  eldest  daughter  became  assistant 
teacher  in  a  distinguished  female  seminary,  and  the 
second  took  her  place  as  instructress  to  the  family. 

18.  The  little  dwelling,  which  had  always  been  kept 


44  WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER. 

neat,  they  were  soon  able  to  beautify.  Its  construction 
was  improved,  and  the  vines  and  flowering  trees  were 
replanted  around  it.  The  merchant  was  happier  under 
his  woodbine-covered  porch,  on  a  summer  evening, 
than  he  had  been  in  his  showy  drawing-room. 

19.  "  We  are  now  thriving  and  prosperous,"  said  the 
father  ;  "  do  you  wish  to  return  to  the  city  ?" 

20.  "  O,  no,"  was  the  unanimous  reply. 

21.  "  Let  us  remain,"  said  the  wife,  "where  we  have 
found  health  and  contentment." 

22.  "Father,"  said  the  youngest,  "all  we  children 
hope  you  will  not  be  rich  again ;  for  then,"  she  added, 
"  we  little  ones  were  shut  up  in  the  nursery,  and  did  not 
see  much  of  you  or  mother.  Now  we  all  live  together, 
and  sister,  who  loves  us,  teaches  us,  and  we  learn  to  be 
industrious  and  useful.  We  were  none  of  us  happy 
when  we  were  rich,  and  did  not  work.  So,  father, 
please  not  to  be  a  rich  man  any  more." 

10.  Ef  fi'  cien  cy,  power  of  producing  effects. 
12.  Bou  quet'  (boo  ka),  a  bunch  ofjlowert. 
12.  Plat'  ted,  interwoven. 


LESSON  XV. 

LOOK  ALOFT. 

Theso  lines  are  founded  upon  an  anecdote  of  a  boj,  who  was  climbing  the  ropes  of  a 
ship,  when  he  became  giddy.  An  old  sailor,  seeing  his  difficulty,  called  out,  "Look 
aloft !  look  aloft !"    The  boy  did  so,  and  found  his  giddiness  depart. 

1.  In  the  tempest  of  life,  when  the  wave  and  the  gale 
Are  around  and  above,  if  thy  footing  should  fail, — 
If  thine  eye  should  grow  dim,  and  thy  caution  depart, — 
"Look  aloft,"  and  be  firm,  and  be  fearless  of  heart. 


webb's  fourth  reader.        45 

2.  If  the  friend  who  embraced  in  prosperity's  glow, 
With  a  smile  for  each  joy,  and  a  tear  for  each  woe, 
Should  betray  thee  when  sorrows  like  clouds  are  arrayed, 
"  Look  aloft"  to  the  friendship  which  never  shall  fade. 

3.  Should  the  visions  which  hope  spreads  in  light  to  thine  eye, 
Like  the  tints  of  the  rainbow,  but  brighten  to  fly, — 

Then  turn,  and,  through  tears  of  repentant  regret, 
V  Look  aloft"  to  the  sun  that  is  never  to  set. 

4.  Should  they  who  are  dearest — the  son  of  thy  heart, 
The  wife  of  thy  bosom — in  sorrow  depart, — 

"  Look  aloft,"  from  the  darkness  and  dust  of  the  tomb, 
To  that  soil  where  affection  is  ever  in  bloom. 

5.  And  0,  when  Death  comes  in  terrors,  to  cast 
His  fears  on  the  future,  his  pall  on  the  past, — 

In  that  moment  of  darkness,  with  hope  in  the  heart, 
And  a  smile  in  thine  eye,  "  look  aloft,"  and  depart ! 

J.  La  WHENCE. 


LESSON  XVI. 

rHE    BEEF    LAWSUIT. 

1.  During  the  distress  of  the  American  army,  caused 
by  the  invasion  of  Comwallis  and  Philips  in  1781,  Mr. 
Venable,  an  army  commissioner,  took  two  steers  for  the 
use  of  the  troops  from  Mr.  Hook,  a  Scotchman  and  a 
man  of  wealth,  who  was  suspected  of  being  unfriendly 
to  the  American  cause. 

2.  The  act  was  not  strictly  legal ;  and  after  the  war 
had  closed,  Hook,  by  the  advice  of  one  Mr.  Cowan,  a 
lawyer  of  some  distinction,  thought  proper  to  bring  an 
action  for  trespass  against  Mr.  Venable. 


46  WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER. 

3.  Mr.  Henry  appeared  for  the  defendant ;  and  he  is 
said  to  have  contributed  much  to  the  enjoyment  of  his 
hearers.  At  one  time,  he  excited  their  indignation 
against  Hook,  and  vengeance  was  visible  in  every  coun- 
tenance :  again,  when  he  chose  to  ridicule  him,  the  whole 
audience  was  in  a  roar  of  laughter. 

4.  He  painted  the  distress  of  the  American  army,  ex- 
posed almost  naked  to  the  cold  of  a  winter  sky,  and 
marking  the  frozen  ground  over  which  they  marched 
with  the  blood  of  their  unshod  feet.  "  Where  was  the 
man,"  said  he,  "who  had  an  American  bosom,  who 
would  not  have  thrown  open  his  fields,  his  barns,  his 
cellars,  the  doors  of  his  house,  the  portals  of  his  breast, 
to  receive  with  outspread  arms  the  meanest  soldier  in 
that  little  band  of  starving  patriots  ?  -Where  is  the 
man  ? 

5.  "  There  he  stands ;  but  whether  the  heart  of  an 
American  beats  in  his  bosom,  you,  gentlemen,  are  to 
judge."  He  then  carried  the  jury  by  the  power  of  his 
imagination  to  the  plains  of  Yorktown ;  the  surrender 
of  which  had  followed  shortly  after  the  act  complained  of. 

6.  He  painted  the  surrender  in  the  most  glowing  and 
noble  colors  of  his  eloquence.  The  audience  saw  before 
their  eyes  the  humbled  and  dejected  British  as  they 
marched  out  of  their  trenches  :  they  saw  the  triumph 
which  lighted  up  every  patriotic  face  :  they  heard  the 
shout  of  "  Victory !"  the  cry  of  "  Washington  and 
liberty !"  as  it  rung  and  echoed  through  the  American 
ranks,  and  was  re-echoed  from  the  hills,  and  from  the 
shores  of  the  neighboring  river. 

7.  "But  hark!"  continued  Henry,  "what  notes  of 
discord  are  these  which  disturb  the  general  joy,  and 
silence  the  acclamations  of  victory?  They  are  the 
notes  of  John  Hook,  hoarsely  bawling  through  the 
American  camp.  Beef!  beef  beef1' 


WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER. 


8.  The  court  was  convulsed  with  laughter :  the  jury 
retired,  and  we  need  scarcely  say,  John  Hook  lost  his 
cause. 


LESSON  XTII. 

WASHINGTON  AND  THE  POOR  WIDOW. 

1.  "It  must  be,  my  child,"  said  the  poor  widow,  wip- 
ing away  the  tears  which  slowly  trickled  down  her 
wasted  cheeks.  "  There  is  no  other  resource.  I  am 
too  sick  to  work,  and  you  can  not,  surely,  see  me  and 
your  little  brother  starve.  Try  and  beg  a  few  dimes, 
and  perhaps,  by  the  time  that  is  gone,  I  may  be  better. 
Go,  Henry,  my  dear.  I  grieve  to  send  you  on  such  an 
errand  ;  but  it  must  be  done." 

2.  The  boy — a  noble-looking  little  fellow  of  about  ten 
years — started  up,  and,  after  throwing  his  arms  around  his 
mother's  neck,  left  the  house  without  a  word.  He  did 
not  hear  the  groan  of  anguish  that  was  uttered  by  his 
parent  as  the  door  closed  behind  him  ;  and  it  was  well 
that  he  did  not,  for  his  little  heart  was  ready  to  burst 
without  it. 

3.  It  was  a  by-street  in  Philadelphia,  and  as  he  walked 
to  and  fro  on  the  sidewalk  he  looked  first  at  one  person, 
and  then  at  another,  as  they  passed  him ;  but  no  one 
seemed  to  look  kindly  on  him,  and  the  longer  he  waited, 
the  faster  his  courage  dwindled  away,  and  the  more 
difficult  it  became  to  muster  resolution  to  beg.  The 
tears  were  running  fast  down  his  cheeks ;  but  nobody 
noticed  them,  or  if  thev  did.  nobody  seemed  to  care ; 
for,  although  clean,  Henry  looked  poor  and  miserable, 
and  it  is  common  for  the  poor  and  miserable  to  cry. 


48  WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER. 


4.  Everybody  seemed  in  a  hurry,  and  the  poor  boy 
was  quite  in  despair,  when,  at  last,  he  espied  a  gentle- 
man who  seemed  to  be  very  leisurely  taking  a  morning 
walk.  He  was  dressed  in  black,  wore  a  three-cornered 
hat,  and  had  a  pleasant  countenance.  When  Henry 
looked  at  him,  he  felt  all  his  fears  vanish  at  once,  and 
instantly  approached  him. 

5.  His  tears  had  been  flowing  so  long,  that  his  eyes 
were  quite  red,  and  swollen,  and  his  voice  trembled  ; 
but  that  was  with  weakness,  for  he  had  not  eaten  for 
twenty-four  hours.  As  Henry,  with  a  low,  faltering 
voice,  begged  for  a  little  charity,  the  gentleman  stop- 
ped ;  and  his  kind  heart  melted  with  compassion  as  he 
looked  into  the  fair  countenance  of  the  poor  boy,  and 
saw  the  deep  blush  which  spread  over  his  face,  and 
listened  to  the  modest,  humble  tones,  which  accompanied 
his  petition. 

6.  "  You  do  not  look  like  a  boy  that  has  been  accus- 
tomed to  beg  his  bread,"  said  he,  kindly  laying  his  hand 
on  the  boy's  shoulder ;  "  what  has  driven  you  to  this 
step  ?" 

7.  "  Indeed,"  answered  Henry,  his  tears  beginning  to 
flow  afresh, — "  indeed,  I  was  not  born  in  this  condition. 
But  the  misfortunes  of  my  father,  and  the  sickness  of 
my  mother,  have  driven  me  to  the  necessity  now." 

8.  "Who  is  your  father?"  inquired  the  gentleman, 
still  more  interested. 

9.  "  My  father  was  a  rich  merchant  of  this  city  ;  but 
he  became  bondsman  for  a  friend,  who  soon  after  failed, 
and  he  was  entirely  ruined.  He  could  not  live  long 
after  this  loss,  and  in  one  month  he  died  of  grief;  and  his 
death  was  more  dreadful  than  any  of  our  troubles.  My 
mother,  my  little  brother,  and  mvself,  soon  sunk  into  the 
lowest  depths  of  poverty. 

10.  "  My  mother  has,  until  now,  managed  to  support 


WEBB'S  FOURTH  HEADER.  49 

herself  and  my  little  brother  by  her  labor,  and  I  have 
earned  what  I  could  by  shoveling  snow,  and  other  work 
that  I  could  find  to  do.  But,  night  before  last,  she  was 
taken  very  sick,  and  has  since  become  so  much  worse 
that  I  fear  she  will  die.  I  can  not  think  of  any  way  in 
the  world  to  help  her. 

11.  "I  have  had  no  work  for  several  weeks.  I  have 
not  had  the  courage  to  go  to  any  of  my  mother's  old 
acquaintances,  and  tell  them  that  she  has  come  to  need 
charity.  I  thought  you  looked  like  a  stranger,  sir,  and 
something  in  your  face  overcame  my  shame,  and  gave 
me  courage  to  speak  to  you.  O,  sir,  do  pity  my  poor 
mother !" 

12.  The  tears,  and  the  simple  and  moving  language 
of  the  poor  boy,  touched  a  chord  in  the  breast  of  the 
stranger  that  was  accustomed  to  frequent  vibrations. 

13.  "  Where  does  your  mother  live,  my  boy  ?"  said  he, 
in  a  husky  voice  :  "  is  it  far  from  here  ?" 

14.  "  She  lives  in  the  last  house  on  this  street,  sir," 
replied  Henry.  "  You  can  see  it  from  here,  in  the  third 
block,  and  on  the  left-hand  side." 

15.  "  Have  you  sent  for  a  physiciun  ?" 

16.  "No,  sir,"  said  the  boy,  sorrowfully,  shaking  his 
head.  "  I  had  no  money,  to  pay  either  for  a  physician 
or  for  medicine." 

17.  "Here,"  said  the  stranger,  drawing  some  pieces 
of  silver  from  his  pocket, — "  here  are  three  dollars ;  take 
them,  and  run  immediately  for  a  physician." 

18.  Henry's  eyes  flashed  with  gratitude  :  he  received 
the  money  with  a  stammering  and  almost  inaudible 
voice ;  but  with  a  look  of  the  warmest  gratitude,  he 
vanished. 

19.  The  benevolent  stranger  instantly  sought  the 
dwelling  of  the  sick  widow.  He  entered  a  little  room, 
in  which  he  could  see  nothing  but  a  few  implements  of 


50  WEBB'S  FOURTH  HEADER. 

female  labor,  a  miserable  table,  an  old  bureau,  and  a 
little  bed,  which  stood  in  one  corner,  on  which  the  invalid 
lay.  She  appeared  weak,  and  almost  exhausted  ;  and 
on  the  bed,  at  her  feet,  sat  a  little  boy,  crying  as  if  his 
heart  would  break. 

20.  Deeply  moved  at  this  sight,  the  stranger  drew 
near  the  bedside  of  the  invalid,  and,  feigning  to  be  a 
physician,  inquired  into  the  nature  of  her  disease.  The 
symptoms  were  explained  in  a  few  words,  when  the 
widow,  with  a  deep  sigh,  added,  "  O,  my  sickness  has  a 
deeper  cause,  and  one  which  is  beyond  the  art  of  the 
physician  to  cure. 

21.  "I  am  a  mother — a  wretched  mother.  I  see  my 
children  sinking  daily  deeper  and  deeper  in  want,  which 
I  have  no  means  of  relieving.  My  sickness  is  of  the 
heart,  and  death  alone  can  end  my  sorrows ;  but  even 
death  is  dreadful  to  me,  for  it  awakens  the  thought  of 
the  misery  into  which  my  children  would  be  plunged, 
if—" 

22.  Kere  emotion  checked  her  utterance,  and  the 
tears  flowed  unrestrained  down  her  cheeks.  But  the 
pretended  physician  -spoke  so  consolingly  to  her,  and 
manifested  so  warm  a  sympathy  for  her  condition,  that 
the  heart  of  the  poor  woman  throbbed  with  a  pleasure 
that  was  unwonted. 

23.  "  Do  not  despair,"  said  the  stranger  ;  "  think  only 
of  recovery,  and  of  preserving  a  life  that  is  so  precious 
.o  your  children.     Can  I  write  a  prescription  here  ?" 

24.  The  poor  widow  took  a  little  prayer-book  from  the 
h  ids  of  a  child  who  sat  with  her  on  the  bed,  and,  tear- 
ing out  a  blank  leaf,  "  I  have  no  other,"  said  she  ;  "  but 
perhaps  this  will  do." 

25.  The  stranger  took  a  pencil  from  his  pocket,  and 
wrote  a  few  lines  upon  the  paper. 

26    "  This  prescription,"  said  he,  "  you  will   find  of 


WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER.  51 

great  service  to  you.     If  it  is  necessary,  I  will  write  you 
a  second.     I  have  great  hopes  of  your  recovery." 

27.  He  laid  the  paper  on  the  table,  and  departed. 
Scarcely  was  he  gone  when  the  elder  son  returned. 

28.  "Cheer  up,  dear  mother,"  said  he,  going  to  her 
bedside,  and  affectionately  kissing  her.  "  See  what  a 
kind,  benevolent  stranger  has  given  us.  It  will  make  us 
rich  for  several  days.  It  has  enabled  us  to  have  a  phy- 
sician, and  he  will  be  here  in  a  moment.  Compose  your- 
self, now,  dear  mother,  and  take  courage.'' 

29.  "  Come  nearer,  my  son,"  answered  the  mother, 
looking  with  pride  and  affection  on  her  child.  "  Come 
nearer,  that  I  may  bless  you.  God  never  forsakes  the 
innocent  and  the  good.  O,  may  He  watch  over  you  in 
all  your  paths  !  A  physician  has  just  been  here.  He 
was  a  stranger,  but  he  spoke  to  me  with  a  compassion 
and  kindness  that  were  a  balm  in  my  heart.  When  he 
went  away,  he  left  that  prescription  on  the  table :  see  if 
you  can  read  it." 

30.  Henry  glanced  at  the  paper,  and  started  back. 
He  took  it  up,  and,  as  he  read  it  through  again  and 
again,  a  cry  of  wonder  and  astonishment  escaped  him. 

31.  "  What  is  it,  my  son  ?"  exclaimed  the  poor  widow, 
trembling  with  an  apprehension  of — she  knew  not  what. 

32.  "  Ah  !  read,  dear  mother !     God  has  heard  us." 

33.  The  mother  took  the  paper  from  the  hands  of  her 
son ;  bit  no  sooner  had  she  fixed  her  eyes  upon  it,  than, 
"  My  God  !"  she  exclaimed,  "  it  is  Washington  !"  and  fell 
back  fainting  on  her  pillow. 

34.  The  writing  was  an  obligation  from  Washington 
— for  it  was  indeed  he — by  which  the  widow  was  to  re- 
ceive the  sum  of  one  hundred  dollars,  from  his  own  pri- 
vate property,  to  be  doubled  in  case  of  necessity. 

35.  Meanwhile,  the  expected  physician  made  his  ap- 
pearance, and  soon  awoke  the  mother  from  her  fainting 


52  WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER. 

fit.  The  joyful  surprise,  together  with  a  good  nurse, 
with  which  the  physician  provided  her,  and  a  plenty  of 
wholesome  food,  soon  restored  her  to  perfect  health. 

36.  The  influence  of  Washington,  who  visited  them 
more  than  once,  provided  for  the  widow  friends  who 
furnished  her  with  constant  employment ;  and  her  sons, 
when  they  arrived  at  the  proper  age,  were  placed  in  re- 
spectable situations,  where  they  were  able  to  support 
themselves,  and  render  the  remainder  of  their  mother's 
life  comfortable  and  happy. 

37.  Let  the  children  who  read  this  story  remember, 
when  they  think  of  the  great  and  good  Washington, 
that  he  was  not  above  entering  the  dwelling  of  poverty, 
and  carrying  joy  and  gladness  to  the  hearts  of  its  in- 
mates. This  is  no  fictitious  tale,  but  is  only  one  of  the 
thousand  incidents  which  might  be  related  of  him,  and 
which  stamp  him  as  one  of  the  best  of  men. 


LESSON    XVIII. 

I    MUST    DO    THE    CHURNING. 

1.  I  never  undertook  but  once  to  set  at  naught  the 
authority  of  my  wife.  You  know  her  way — cool,  quiet, 
but  determined  as  ever  was.  Just  after  we  were  mar- 
ried, and  all  was  going  nice  and  cozy,  she  got  me  into  a 
habit  of  doing  all  the  churning.  She  never  asked  me  to 
do  it,  you  know ;  but  then  she — why  it  was  done  just 
in  this  way. 

2.  She  finished  breakfast  rather  before  me  one  morn- 
ing, and  slipping  away  from  the  table,  she  filled  the  churn 
with  cream,  and  set  it  just  where  I  could  not  help  seeing 
what  was  wanted.     So  I  took  holH  regularly  enough, 


WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER.  53 

and  churned  till  the  butter  came.  She  did  not  thank 
me,  but  looked  so  nice  and  sweet  about  it,  that  I  felt 
well  paid. 

3.  Well,  when  the  next  churning  day  came  along,  she 
did  the  same  thing ;  and  I  followed  suit  and  fetched  the 
butter.  Again  and  again  it  was  done  just  so ;  and  I  was 
regularly  in  for  it  every  time.  Not  a  word  said,  you 
know,  of  course.  Well,  by-and-by,  this  began  to  be 
rather  irksome :  I  wished  she  should  just  ask  me ;  but 
she  never  did,  and  I  could  not  say  any  thing  about  it,  to 
save  my  life ;  and  so  on  we  went. 

4.  At  last  I  made  a  resolve  that  I  would  not  churn 
another  time,  unless  she  asked  me.  Churning  day  came, 
and  when  my  breakfast — she  always  got  nice  breakfasts 
— when  that  was  swallowed,  there  stood  the  churn.  I 
rose  up,  and  standing  a  few  minutes,  just  to  give  her  a 
chance  to  ask  me,  put  on  my  hat,  and  walked  out  door. 
I  stopped  in  the  yard  to  give  her  time  to  call  me ;  but 
not  a  word  did  she  say ;  and  so,  with  a  palpitating  heart, 
I  moved  on. 

5.  I  went  down  town,  up  town,  and  all  over  town ; 
and  my  foot  was  as  restless  as  was  that  of  Noah's  dove. 
I  felt  as  if  I  had  done  a  wrong:  I  did  not  exactly  know 
what ;  but  there  was  an  indescribable  sensation  of  guilt 
resting  on  me  all  the  forenoon.  It  seemed  as  if  dinner- 
time never  would  come ;  and  as  for  going  home  one 
minute  before  dinner,  I  would  as  soon  have  had  my  ears 
taken  off.  So  I  went  fretting  and  moping  around  town 
till  dinner-hour  came. 

6.  Home  I  went,  feeling  very  much  as  a  criminal 
must  when  the  jury  is  out,  having  in  their  hands  his  des- 
tiny :  life  or  death.  I  could  not  make  up  my  mind 
exactly  how  she  would  meet  me,  but  some  kind  of  a 
storm  I  expected.  Well,  will  you  believe  it?  She 
never  greeted  me  with  a  sweeter  smile  ;  never  had  a 


54  WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER. 

better  dinner  for  me  than  on  that  day  :  but  there  stood 
the  churn,  just  where  I  left  it ! 

7.  Not  a  word  was  said  :  I  felt  very  much  cut  up,  and 
every  mouthful  of  that  dinner  seemed  as  if  it  would 
choke  me.  She  did  not  pay  any  regard  to  it,  however, 
but  went  on  just  as  if  nothing  had  happened.  Before 
dinner  was  over  I  had  again  resolved,  and  shoving  back 
my  chair,  I  marched  to  the  churn,  and  went  at  it  just  in 
the  old  way.  Splash,  drip,  rattle,  splash :  I  kept  it  up 
As  if  in  spite,  the  butter  never  was  so  long  coming.  1 
supposed  that  the  cream,  standing  so  long,  had  become 
warm  ;  and  so  I  redoubled  my  efforts. 

8.  Obstinate  matter!  the  afternoon  wore  away  while 
I  was  churning.  I  paused. at  last,  from  real  exhaustion, 
when  she  spoke  for  J:he  first  time  :  "  Come,  my  dear,  you 
have  rattled  that  buttermilk  quite  long  enough,  if  it  is 
only  for  fun  you  are  doing  it !"  Iknew  how  it  was  in  a 
flash.  She  brought  the  butter  in  the  forenoon,  and  left 
the  churn  standing,  with  the  buttermilk  in,  for  me  to 
exercise  with.  I  never  set  up  for  myself  in  household 
matters,  after  that. 


LESSON  XIX. 

TO-DAY    AND    TO-MORROW. 

Don't  tell  me  of  to-morrow  ! 

Give  me  the  man  who'll  say, 
That  when  a  good  deed's  to  be  done, 

Lei's  do  the  deed  to-day. 
We  may  all  command  the  present, 

If  W«  art,  and  BCTCT  wait  ; 
But  repentance  is  tin-  phantom 

Of  a  past  that  comes  too  late  ! 


WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER.  55 

2.  Don't  tell  me  of  to-morrow  ! 

There's  much  to  do  to-day, 
That  ne'er  can  be  accomplished, 

If  we  throw  the  hours  away. 
Every  moment  has  its  duty  : 

Who  the  future  can  foretell  ? 
Then  why  put  off  till  to-morrow, 

What  to-day  can  do  as  well  ? 

3.  Don't  tell  me  of  to-morrow ! 

Let  us  look  upon  the  past : 
How  much  there  is  we've  left  undone, 

Will  be  undone  at  last ! 
To-day — it  is  the  only  time 

For  all  on  this  frail  earth : 
It  takes  an  age  to  form  a  life — 

A  moment  gives  it  birth  ! 

J.  E.  Carpenter. 


LESSON  XX. 

INSTINCTIVE    KNOWLEDGE    IN    BIRDS. 

1.  One  of  the  most  remarkable  cases  of  instinctive 
knowledge  in  birds  was  related  to  me  by  an  eye-wit- 
ness. He  was  attracted  to  the  door,  one  summer 
day,  by  a  troubled  twittering,  indicating  distress  and 
terror.  A  bird  that  had  built  her  nest  in  a  tree  near  the 
door,  was  flying  back  and  forth  with  the  utmost  speed, 
uttering  wailing  cries  as  she  went.  He  was  at  first  at 
a  loss  to  account  for  her  strange  movements :  but  they 
were  soon  explained  by  the  sight  of  a  snake  slowly 
winding  up  the  tree. 

2.  Marvelous  stories  had  been  told  of  the  snake's 
power  to  charm  birds.     The  popular  belief  was,  that  the 


56  WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER. 

serpent  charmed  the  bird  by  looking  steadily  at  it ;  and 
that  such  a  sympathy  was  thereby  established,  that,  if 
the  snake  were  struck,  the  bird  felt  the  blow,  and 
writhed  under  it. 

3.  These  traditions  excited  curiosity,  and  he  resolved 
to  watch  the  progress,  and  await  the  result.  The  dis- 
tressed bird,  meanwhile,  continued  her  rapid  movements 
and  troubled  cries  :  and  he  soon  discovered  that  shB 
went  to  and  came  continually,  with  something  in  her 
bill,  from  one  particular  tree — a  white-ash. 

4.  The  snake  wound  its  way  up ;  but  the  instant  its 
head  came  near  the  nest,  its  fold  relaxed,  and  it  fell 
to  the  ground  rigid,  and  apparently  lifeless.  After  the 
man  had  made  sure  of  its  death,  by  cutting  off  its  head, 
he  mounted  the  tree,  to  examine  into  the  mystery. 
Here  he  found  a  snug  little  nest  filled  with  eggs,  and 
covered  with  leaves  of  the  white-ash  ! 

5.  That  little  bird  knew,  if  my  readers  do  not,  that 
contact  with  the  white-ash  is  deadly  to  a  snake.  This 
is  no  idle  superstition,  but  a  veritable  fact  in  natural 
history.  The  Indians  are  aware  of  it,  and  twist  gar- 
lands of  white- ash  leaves  about  their  ankles,  as  a  pro- 
tection against  rattlesnakes. 

6.  I  have  never  heard  any  explanation  of  the  effect 
produced  by  the  white-ash  :  but  1  know  that  settlers  in 
the  wilderness  like  to  have  these  trees  around  their  log- 
houses,  being  convinced  that  no  snake  will  voluntarily 
come  near  them.  When  touched  with  the  boughs,  they 
are  said  to  become  suddenly  rigid,  with  strong  convul- 
sions. After  a  while,  they  slowly  recover,  but  wen 
sickly  for  some  time. 

7.  Last  spring,  two  barn  sw .illows  came  into  our 
wood-shed.  Their  busy,  earnest  twitterings  led  me  at 
once  to  suspect  that  they  were  looking  out  a  building 
spot ;  but,  as   a  carpenter's  bench  was  under  the  win- 


WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER.  57 

dow,  and  frequent  hammering,  sawing,  and  planing 
were  going  on,  I  had  little  hope  they  would  choose  a 
location  under  our  roof. 

8.  To  my  surprise,  however,  they  soon  began  to  build 
in  the  crotch  of  a  beam,  over  the  open  door-way.  I 
was  delighted,  and  spent  much  time  in  watching  them. 
It  was,  in  fact,  a  beautiful  little  drama  of  domestic  love : 
the  mother  bird  was  so  busy  and  so  important,  and  her 
mate  was  so  attentive!  He  scarcely  ever  left  the  side 
of  the  nest.  There  he  was,  all  day  long,  twittering 
in  tones  that  were  most  obviously  the  outpourings  of 
love. 

9.  Sometimes  he  would  bring  in  a  straw,  or  a  hair, 
to  be  interwoven  in  the  precious  little  fabric.  One  day, 
my  attention  was  arrested  by  a  very  unusual  twitter- 
ing, and  I  saw  him  circling  around  with  a  large,  downy 
feather  in  his  bill.  He  bent  over  the  unfinished  nest, 
and  offered  it  to  his  mate  with  the  most  graceful  and 
loving  air  imaginable ;  and  when  she  put  up  her  mouth 
to  take  it,  he  poured  forth  such  a  gush  of  gladsome 
sound !  It  seemed  as  if  pride  and  affection  had  swelled 
his  heart,  till  it  was  almost  too  big  for  his  little  bosom. 

10.  During  the  process  of  incubation,  he  volunteered 
to  perform  his  share  of  household  duty.  Three  or  four 
times  a  day,  he  would,  with  coaxing  twitterings,  per- 
suade his  patient  mate  to  fly  abroad  for  food ;  and  the 
moment  she  left  the  eggs,  he  would  take  the  maternal 
station,  and  give  a  loud  alarm  whenever  the  cat  or  dog 
came  about  the  premises.  When  the  young  ones  came 
forth,  he  pursued  the  same  equalizing  policy,  and  brought 
at  least  half  the  food  for  his  greedy  little  family. 

11.  But  when  they  became  old  enough  to  fly,  the 
veriest  misanthrope  would  have  laughed  to  watch  their 
maneuvers !  Such  chirping  and  twittering !  such  diving 
down  from  the  nest,  and  flying  up  again !  such  wheel- 


58  WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER. 

ing  around  in  circles,  talking  to  the  young  ones  all  the 
while !  such  clinging  to  the  sides  of  the  shed  with  their 
sharp  claws,  to  show  the  timid  little  fledglings  that 
there  was  no  need  of  falling ! 

12.  For  three  days,  all  this  was  carried  on  with  in- 
creasing activity.  It  was  obviously  an  infant  flying- 
school.  But  all  their  talking  and  twittering  was  of  no 
avail.  The  little  downy  things  looked  down,  and  then 
looked  up,  and,  alarmed  at  the  infinity  of  space,  sank 
down  into  the  nest  again. 

13.  At  length  the  parents  grew  impatient,  and  sum- 
moned their  neighbors.  As  I  was  picking  up  chips  one 
day,  I  found  my  head  encircled  with  a  swarm  of  swal- 
lows. They  flew  up  to  the  nest,  and  chattered  away  to 
the  young  ones ;  they  clung  to  the  walls,  looking  back 
to  tell  how  the  thing  was  done ;  they  dived,  and  wheel- 
ed, and  balanced,  and  floated,  in  a  manner  perfectly 
beautiful  to  behold. 

14.  The  pupils  were  evidently  much  excited.  They 
jumped  up  on  the  edge  of  the  nest,  and  twittered,  and 
shook  their  feathers,  and  waved  their  wings ;  and  then 
hopped  back  again,  saying,  "  It  is  pretty  sport,  but  we 
can  not  do  it." 

15.  Three  times  the  neighbors  came  in,  and  repeated 
their  graceful  lessons.  The  third  time,  two  of  the  voung 
birds  gave  a  sudden  plunge  downward,  and  then  flut- 
tered, and  hopped,  till  they  alighted  on  a  small  upright 
log.  And  O,  such  praises  as  were  warbled  by  the  whole 
troop !  the  air  was  filled  with  their  joy ! 

10.  Some  were  flying  around  swiftly ;  others  were 
perched  on  the  hoe-handle,  and  the  teeth  of  the  rake ; 
multitudes  clung  to  the  wall,  after  the  fashion  of  their 
pretty  kind;  and  two  were  twinging,  in  most  graceful 
style,  on  a  pendent  hoop.  Never,  while  memory  lasts, 
shall  I  forget  that  swallow  party  ! 


WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER.  59 

17.  The  whole  family  continued  to  be  our  playmates 
until  the  falling  leaves  gave  token  of  approaching  win- 
ter. For  some  time,  the  little  ones  came  home  regularly 
to  their  nest  at  night.  I  was  ever  on  the  watch  to  wel- 
come them,  and  count,  that  none  were  missing. 

18.  Their  familiarity  was  wonderful.  If  I  hung  my 
gown  on  a  nail,  I  found  a  little  swallow  perched  on  the 
sleeve.  If  I  took  a  nap  in  the  afternoon,  my  waking 
eyes  were  greeted  by  a  swallow  on  the  bed-post ;  in 
the  summer  twilight,  they  flew  about  the  sitting-room 
in  search  of  flies,  and  sometimes  alighted  on  chairs  and 
tables. 

19.  I  almost  thought  they  knew  how  much  I  loved 
them.  But  at  last  they  flew  away  to  more  genial  skies, 
with  a  whole  troop  of  relations  and  neighbors.  It  was 
painful  to  me  to  think  that  I  should  never  know  them 
from  other  swallows,  and  that  they  would  have  no  recol- 
lection of  me. 

3.  Tra  di'  tion,  that  which  is  handed  down  from  age  to  age. 

10.  In  cu  ba'  tion,  act  of  sitting  on,  as  eggs.       Ma  tern'  al,  motherly. 

11.  Ver'  i  est,  firmest.  Mis'  aa  tlirope,  a  hater  of  mankind  Maneu- 
ver, skillful  management.     Fledg'  ling,  a  young  bird. 

16.  Pend'  ent,  hanging. 


LESSON  XXL 

THE  LAND  OP  THE  BLEST. 

Child. 

1.  Dear  father,  I  ask  for  my  mother  in  vain  ; 

Has  she  sought  some  far  country,  her  health  to  regain  ? 
Has  she  left  our  cold  climate  of  frost  and  of  snow, 
For  some  sunny  land,  where  the  soft  breezes  blow  ? 


60  WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER. 

Father. 

2.  Yes,  yes,  gentle  daughter,  thy  loved  mother  has  gone 
To  a  climate  where  sorrow  and  pain  are  unknown ; 
Her  spirit  is  strengthened,  her  frame  is  at  rest, — 
There  is  health,  there  is  peace  in  the  land  of  the  blest. 

Child. 

3.  Is  that  land,  dear  father,  more  lovely  than  ours  ? 

Are  the  rivers  more  clear,  or  more  blooming  the  flowers  1 

Does  summer  shine  over  it  all  the  year  long  ? 

Is  it  cheered  by  the  glad  sound  of  music  and  song  ? 

Father. 

4.  Yes,  the  flowers  are  despoiled  not  by  winter  or  night, 
The  well-springs  of  life  are  exhaustless  and  bright ; 
And  by  sweet  voices  sweet  hymns  are  addressed 

To  the  Lord,  who  reigns  over  the  land  of  the  blest. 

Child. 

5.  Yet  that  land  to  my  mother  will  lonely  appear ; 

She  shrank  from  the  glance  of  the  stranger  while  here  ; 
From  her  foreign  companions  I  know  she  will  flee, 
And  sigh,  dearest  father,  for  you  and  for  me. 

Father. 

6.  My  daughter,  thy  mother  delighted  to  gaze 

On  the  long-severed  friends  of  her  earliest  days  ; 
Her  parents  have  there  found  a  mansion  of  rest, 
And  they  welcome  their  child  to  the  land  of  the  blest. 

Child. 

T.  How  I  long  to  partake  of  such  meetings  of  bliss ! 
That  land  must  be  surely  more  happy  than  this : 
On  you,  my  kind  father,  the  journey  depends ; 
Let  us  go  to  my  mother,  her  kindred,  and  friends. 


WEBB'S  FOUKTH  READER.  61 

Father. 

8.  Not  on  me,  love  :  I  trust  I  may  reach  that  bright  clime, 
But  in  patience  I  stay  till  the  Lord's  chosen  time ; 
And  must  strive,  while  awaiting  His  gracious  behest, 
To  guide  thy  young  steps  to  the  land  of  the  blest. 

9.  Yet  fear  not ;  the  God  whose  direction  we  crave 
Is  mighty  to  strengthen,  to  shield,  and  to  save ; 
And  His  hand  may  yet  lead  thee,  a  glorified  guest, 
To  the  home  of  thy  mother — the  land  of  the  blest. 

Tune — Oaken  Bucket  Mas.  Abdt. 


LESSON   XXII. 

FREAK    OF    A    HYPOCHONDRIAC. 

1.  Some  hypochondriacs  have  fancied  themselves 
miserably  afflicted  in  one  way,  and  some  in  another  : 
some  have  insisted  that  they  were  tea-pots,  and  some 
that  they  were  town-clocks  :  one  that  he  was  extremely 
ill,  and  another  that  he  was  actually  dying.  But  per- 
haps none  of  this  class  ever  matched,  in  extravagance, 
a  patient  of  the  late  Dr.  Stevenson,  of  Baltimore. 

2.  This  hypochondriac,  after  ringing  the  change  of 
every  mad  conceit  that  ever  tormented  a  crazy  brain, 
would  have  it  at  last  that  he  was  dead — actually  dead. 
Dr.  Stevenson  having  been  sent  for  one  morning  in 
great  haste,  by  the  wife  of  his  patient,  hastened  to  his 
bedside,  where  he  found  him  stretched  at  full  length, 
with  his  hands  across  his  breast,  his  toes  in  contact,  his 
eyes  and  mouth  closely  shut,  and  his  looks  ghastly. 

3.  "  Well,  sir,  how  do  you  do  ?  how  do  you  do  this 
morning  ?"  asked  Dr.  Stevenson,  in  a  jocular  way,  ap- 
proaching his  bed.     "  How  do  I  do  l"  replied  the  man, 

6 


62  WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER. 

faintly.  "A  pretty  question  to  ask  a  dead  man!" 
"  Dead  !"  exclaimed  the  doctor.  "  Yes,  sir ;  dead — quite 
dead :  I  died  last  night  about  twelve  o'clock." 

4.  Dr.  Stevenson,  putting  his  hand  gently  on  the  fore- 
head of  the  hypochondriac,  as  if  to  ascertain  whether  it 
was  cold,  and  also  feeling  his  pulse,  exclaimed,  in  a  dole- 
ful note,  "  Yes,  the  poor  man  is  dead,  sure  enough  :  it  is 
all  over  with  him,  and  the  sooner  he  can  be  buried  the 
better."  Then  stepping  up  to  his  wife,  and  whispering 
that  she  must  not  be  frightened  at  the  measures  he  was 
about  to  take,  he  called  the  servant. 

5.  "  My  boy,  your  poor  master  is  dead ;  and  the 
sooner  he  can  be  put  into  the  ground  the  better.  Run 
to  the  undertaker's,  and  get  a  coffin  :  and,  do  you  hear  ? 
bring  a  coffin  of  the  largest  size  ;  for  your  master  makes 
a  stout  corpse ;  and  having  died  last  night,  and  the  wea- 
ther being  warm,  he  will  not  keep  long." 

6.  Away  went  the  servant,  and  soon  returned  with  a 
proper  coffin.  The  wife  and  family  having  got  their 
lesson  from  the  doctor,  gathered  around  him,  and  howled 
not  a  little  while  they  were  putting  the  body  into  the 
coffin.  Presently  the  pall-bearers,  who  were  quickly 
provided,  and  let  into  the  secret,  started  with  the  poor 
man  for  the  church-yard. 

7.  They  had  not  gone  far  before  they  were  met  by 
one  of  the  townspeople,  who  having  been  properly  drilled 
by  Doctor  Stevenson,  cried  out,  "  Ah,  doctor,  what  poor 
soul  have  you  got  there  ?" 

8.  "Poor  Mr.  B.,"  sighed  the  doctor,  Meft  us  last 
night/ 

9.  u  Great  pity  he  had  not  left  us  twenty  years  ago," 
replied  the  other  :  "  he  was  a  bad  man." 

10.  Presently  another  of  the  townsmen  met  them  with 
the  same  question  :  "  And  what  poor  soul  have  you  got 
there,  doctor  ?" 


WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER.  63 

11.  "Poor  Mr.  B.,"  answered  the  doctor,  "is  dead." 

12.  "Ah!  indeed  !"  said  the  other.  "  And  so  he  has 
gone  to  meet  his  deserts,  at  last !" 

13.  "Oh,  villain!"  exclaimed  the  man  in  the  coffin. 

14.  Soon  after  this,  while  the  pall-bearers  were  rest- 
ing themselves  near  the  church-yard,  another  stepped  up 
with  the  old  question  :  "  What  poor  soul  have  you  got 
there,  doctor  ?" 

15.  "  Poor  Mr.  B.,"  he  replied,  "is  gone." 

16.  "  Yes,  and  to  the  bottomless  pit,"  said  the  other  : 
"  for  if  he  is  not  gone  there,  I  do  not  know  who 
should." 

17.  Here  the  dead  man,  bursting  off  the  lid  of  the  cof- 
fin, which  had  been  purposely  left  loose,  leaped  out,  ex- 
claiming :  "  O,  you  villain  !  I  am  gone  to  the  bottom- 
less pit,  am  I !  Well,  I  have  come  back  again  to  pay 
such  ungrateful  rascals  as  you  are." 

18.  A  chase  was  immediately  commenced  by  the  dead 
man  after  the  living,  to  the  consternation  of  many  of  the 
spectators,  at  the  sight  of  a  corpse,  in  all  the  horrors  of 
the  winding-sheet,  running  through  the  street.  After 
having  run  himself  into  a  copious  perspiration,  the  hypo- 
chondriac was  brought  home  by  the  doctor,  free  from 
all  his  complaints  ;  and  by  strengthening  food,  cheerful 
company,  and  moderate  exercise,  he  was  soon  restored 
to  perfect  health. 


1.  Hyp  o  chon'dri  ac,  affected  with  melancholy. 
5.  Uu  der  tak'  er,  one  who  manages  funerals. 


I ■»■■ 

64                         WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER. 

LESSON  XXIII. 

THE      LIFE-CLOCK. 

1.  There  is  a  little  mystic  clock, 
No  human  eye  hath  seen ; 
That  beateth  on,  and  beateth  on, 
From  morning  until  e'en. 

2.  And  when  the  soul  is  wrapped  in  sleep, 
And  heareth  not  a  sound, 
It  ticks,  and  ticks,  the  live-long  night, 
And  never  runneth  down. 

3.  0  !  wondrous  is  the  work  of  art, 
Which  knells  the  passing  hour ; 
But  art  ne'er  formed,  nor  mind  conceived, 
The  life-clock's  magic  power. 

4.  Nor  set  in  gold,  nor  decked  with  gems, 
By  pride  and  wealth  possessed  : 
But  rich  or  poor,  or  high  or  low, 
Each  bears  it  in  his  breast. 

5.  When  life's  deep  stream,  'mid  beds  of  flowers, 
All  still  and  softly  glides, 
Like  the  wavelet's  step,  with  a  gentle  beat, 
It  warns  of  passing  tides. 

6.  When  passion  nerves  the  warrior's  arm, 
For  deeds  of  hate  and  wrong, 
Though  heeded  not,  the  fearful  sound,' 
The  knell  is  deep  and  strong. 

7.  When  eyes  to  eyes  are  gazing  soft, 
And  tender  words  arc  spoken, 
Then  fast  and  wild  it,  rattles  on, 
As  if  with  love  'twere  broken. 

webb's  fourth  reader.       65 

8.  Such  is  the  clock  that  measures  life, 
Of  flesh  and  spirit  blended  ; 
And  thus  'twill  run  within  the  breast, 
Till  this  strange  life  is  ended. 


LESSON  XXIV. 

THE    BOY    AND    THE    MAN. 

1.  Some  years  ago,  there  was  in  the  city  of  Boston, 
a  portrait  painter,  whose  name  was  Copely.  He  did  not 
succeed  well  in  his  business,  and  concluded  to  go  to 
England,  to  try  his  fortunes  there.  He  had  a  little  son, 
whom  he  took  with  him,  whose  name  was  John  Single- 
ton Copely. 

2.  John  was  a  very  studious  boy,  and  made  such 
rapid  progress  in  his  studies,  that  his  father  sent  him  to 
college.  There  he  applied  himself  so  closely  to  his 
books,  and  became  so  distinguished  a  scholar,  that  his 
instructors  predicted  that  he  would  make  a  very  eminent 
man. 

3.  After  he  had  graduated,  he  studied  law.  And 
when  he  entered  upon  the  practice  of  his  profession, 
his  mind  was  so  richly  disciplined  by  his  previous  dili- 
gence, that  he  almost  immediately  gained  celebrity. 
One  or  two  cases  of  great  importance  being  intrusted 
to  him,  he  managed  them  with  so  much  wisdom  and 
skill  as  to  attract  the  admiration  of  the  whole  British 
nation. 

4.  The  king  and  his  cabinet,  seeing  what  a  learned 
man  he  was,  and  how  much  influence  he  had  acquired, 
felt  it  to  be  important  to  secure  his  services  for  the 
government.     They  therefore  raised  him  from  one  post 


66  WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER. 

of  honor  to  another,  till  he  was  created  Lord  High 
Chancellor  of  England — the  very  highest  post  of  honor 
to  which  any  subject  can  attain. 

5.  John  Singleton  Copely  is  now  Lord  Lyndhurst, 
Lord  High  Chancellor  of  England.  About  sixty  years 
ago,  he  was  a  little  boy  in  Boston.  His  father  was  a 
poor  portrait  painter,  hardly  able  to  get  his  daily  bread. 
Now  John  is  at  the  head  of  the  nobility  of  England  ; 
one  of  the  most  distinguished  men  in  talent  and  power 
in  the  House  of  Lords,  and  regarded  with  reverence 
and  respect  by  the  whole  civilized  world. 

6.  This  is  the  reward  of  industry.  The  studious  boy 
becomes  the  useful  and  respected  man.  Had  John  S. 
Copely  spent  his  school-boy  days  in  idleness,  he  probably 
would  have  passed  his  manhood  in  poverty  and  shame. 
But  he  studied  in  school  when  other  young  men  were 
wasting  their  time :  he  adopted  for  his  motto,  "  Press 
onward," — and  how  rich  has  been  his  reward. 

7.  You,  my  friends,  are  now  laying  the  foundation 
for  your  future  life.  You  are  every  day,  at  school,  de- 
ciding the  question,  whether  you  will  be  useful  and 
respected  in  life,  or  whether  your  manhood  shall  be 
passed  in  mourning  over  the  follies  of  misspent  boy- 


hood. 


John  S.  C.  Abbott. 


LESSON  XXV. 

THE  THREE  BLACK  CROWS. 

1.  The  object  of  this  piece  is  to  show  on  what  a 
slender  foundation  a  wonderful  report  will  often,  when 
traced  to  its  source,  be  found  to  rest. 


WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER.        •  67 

2.  Two  honest  tradesmen  meeting  in  the  strand, 
One  took  the  other  briskly  by  the  hand ; 

"  Hark  ye,"  said  he,  "  'tis  an  odd  story  this, 
About  the  crows !" 

3.  "  I  don't  know  what  it  is,"  replied  his  friend. 

4.  "  No  !  I'm  surprised  at  that  ; 

Where  I  come  from,  it  is  the  common  chat : 
But  you  shall  hear ; — an  odd  affair,  indeed  ! 
And  that  it  happened,  they  all  agreed : 

5.  "  Not  to  detain  you  from  a  thing  so  strange, 
A  gentleman  that  lived  not  far  from  'Change, 
This  week,  in  short,  as  all  the  Alley  knows, 

Took  physic,  and  has  thrown  up  three  black  crows  /" 

6.  "Impossible!" 

1.  "  Nay,  but  'tis  really  true  ; 

I  have  it  from  good  hands,  and  so  may  you." 

8.  "  From  whence,  I  pray  ?"     So  having  named  the  man, 
Straight  to  inquire  his  curious  comrade  ran. 

"  Sir,  did  you  tell," — relating  the  affair. — 

9.  "  Yes,  sir,  I  did  ;  and  if  'tis  worth  your  care, 
Ask  Mr.  Such-an-one ;  he  told  it  me  : 

But,  by-the-by,  'twas  two   black  crows,  not  three" 

10.  Resolved  to  trace  so  wondrous  an  event, 
Quick  to  the  third  this  virtuoso  went. 

"  Sir," — and-so-forth. 

11.  "  Why,  yes  ;  the  thing  is  fact, 

Though  in  regard  to  numbers,  not  exact ; 
It  was  not  two  black  crows, — 'twas  only  one : 
The  truth  of  that  you  may  depend  upon. 
The  gentleman  himself  told  me  the  case." 


68  WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER. 

12.  "  Where  may  I  find  him  ?" 

13.  "Why,  in  such  a  place." 

14.  Away  he  goes,  and  having  found  him  out, — 
"  Sir,  be  so  good  as  to  resolve  a  doubt." 
Then  to  his  last  informant  he  referred, 

And  begged  to  know  if  true  what  he  had  heard. 
"  Did  you,  sir,  throw  up  a  black  crow  ?" 

15.  "Not  I!" 

16.  "  Bless  me !  how  people  propagate  a  lie  ! 

Black  Crows  have  been  thrown  up,  three,  two,  one, 
And  here  I  find  at  last  all  comes  to — none  f 
Did  you  say  nothing  of  a  crow  at  all  ?" 

17.  "  Crow ! — Crow  '^-perhaps  I  might — now  I  recall 
The  matter  ovei." 

18.  "  And  pray,  sir,  what  was  it  ?" 

19.  "Why  I  was  horrid  sick,  and  at  the  last, 
I  did  throw  up,  and  told  my  neighbor  so, 
Something  that  was  as  black,  sir,  as  a  crow." 

Dr.  Bybojt 


10.  Vir  tu  5'  so,  properly  one  skilled  in  curiosities  or  in  the  fine  arts; 
as  here  used,  it  denotes  one  curious  to  know. 
16.  Prop'  a  gate,  spread. 


LESSON  XXVI. 

EDWARD  AND  WILLIAM,  OR  TRUE  FRIENDSHIP. 

1.  Edward  and  William  were  friends  from  boyhood : 
their  ages  were  nearly  the  same,  and  their  stations  in 
life  similar.     Edward  was  an  orphan,  brought  up  by 


WEBB'S  FOUETII  READER.  69 

his  grandfather,  the  proprietor  of  a  small  farm.  The 
father  of  William  was  a  small  farmer  also,  a  respectable, 
worthy  man,  whose  only  ambition  (and  such  an  ambition 
was  laudable)  was  to  leave  to  his  son  the  heritage  of  a 
good  name.  « 

2.  Both  boys  were  destined  by  their  natural  guar- 
dians to  fill  that  station  in  society  to  which  they  were 
born  ;  but  it  happened,  as  sometimes  it  will  happen  in 
such  cases,  that  the  boys,  though  trained  up  in  hard- 
working and  pains-taking  families,  where  the  labor  of 
the  hand  was  more  thought  of  than  the  labor  of  the 
head,  were,  nevertheless,  very  bookishly  inclined. 

3.  As  they  were  both  of  them  only  children,  their 
fancies  were  generally  indulged,  and  no  one  took  offense 
that  their  pence  and  sixpences  were  hoarded  up  for  the 
purchase  of  books,  instead  of  being  spent  in  gingerbread 
and  marbles. 

4.  And  partly  to  gratify  their  own  taste  for  learning, 
and  partly  to  fall  in  with  the  wishes  of  the  village  school- 
master, who  took  no  little  pride  and  pleasure  in  his  docile 
and  book-loving  pupils,  they  attended  the  grammar- 
school  long  after  their  village  cotemporaries  were  fol- 
lowing the  plow. 

5.  At  fifteen  they  appeared  less  likely  than  ever, 
voluntarily,  to  lay  down  Homer  and  Virgil,  and  our 
English  divines  and  poets,  for  any  pleasure  it  was  proba- 
ble they  would  ever  find  in  growing  turnips  or  selling 
fat  cattle. 

6.  Perhaps  this  taste  for  letters  might  be  also  stimu- 
lated by  the  grammar-school  having  in  its  gift,  every 
five  years,  a  scholarship  in  one  of  the  universities ;  and 
which  was  awarded  to  the  youthful  writer  of  the  best 
Greek  and  Latin  theme.  The  term  was  about  expiring, 
and  one  of  the  two  friends  was  sure  of  the  nomination, 
there  being  no  other  candidates. 


70  WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER. 

7.  It  was  now  Christmas,  and  the  decision  was  to 
take  place  in  March.  The  themes  were  in  progress, 
and  every  thought  of  both  youths  seemed  to  turn  itself 
into  good  Greek  and  Latin.  Just  at  this  time,  the  father 
of  William  suddenly  died ;  and  ,what  made  the  trial 
doubly  afflicting  was,  that  his  circumstances  had  become 
embarrassed,  and  the  farm  must,  of  necessity,  be  sold 
to  pay  his  debts. 

8.  This  was  a  great  sorrow ;  but  young  as  William 
was,  his  mind  was  strengthened  by  knowledge.  He 
turned  his  philosophy  to  the  best  account ;  he  faced  his 
adverse  circumstances  with  manly  courage,  and,  with  a 
clear  head  and  an  upright  heart,  assisted  in  straighten- 
ing his  father's  deranged  affairs,  and  in  providing  that 
every  one's  just  claim  should  be  satisfied. 

9.  Yet  it  was  with  a  heavy  heart  that  he  left  the 
comfortable  home  of  former  independence,  and  retired 
with  his  drooping  mother  to  a  small  dwelling,  with  the 
remnant  of  their  fortune,  barely  sufficient  to  support  her 
above  want. 

10.  When  William  saw  his  mother's  melancholy  pros- 
pects, he,  for  a  moment,  almost  lamented  that  he  could 
not  turn  his  hand  to  labor  ;  and  at  times  the  gloomy 
thought  crossed  his  mind,  that  perhaps  had  he  been  a  hum- 
ble plowman,  he  might  have  saved  his  father  from  ruin. 

11.  But  youth  is  strong,  and  so  is  intellect ;  and  the 
force  of  a  well-stored  and  active  mind  buoyed  him  up : 
he  felt  that  within  him  which  would  not  let  him  despair, 
nor  even  murmur ;  and  he  knew,  besides,  that  were  the 
scholarship  but  once  won,  the  way  would  then  be  opened 
to  honorable  advancement,  and  even  Competency, 

12.  Actively,  then,  did  he  bestir  himself;  what  was 
before  interesting,  he  now  pursued  with  ardor,  and 
what  before  he  had  done  well,  he  now  did  better  ;  for 
the  intellect,  like  a  rich   mine,  abundantly  repays   its 


WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER.  71 

workers.  Sometimes  the  idea,  almost  in  the  form  of  a 
wish,  crossed  his  mind,  that  Edward,  knowing  his  altered 
circumstances,  might  relinquish  the  field,  and  thus  secure 
to  him  what  had  become  so  doubly  desirable. 

13.  It  was  now  the  end  of  January,  and  during  a 
hard  frost,  the  two  friends  met  every  evening  to  recreate 
themselves  in  skating,  an  exercise  in  which  both  ex- 
celled. But  William  seemed  at  this  time  the  sport  of 
misfortune  ;  for,  as  he  was  performing,  almost  for  the 
twentieth  time,  a  master-piece  in  the  exercise,  his  foot 
caught  a  pebble  in  the  ice,  he  was  flung  forward  to  an 
immense  distance  with  terrible  velocity,  and  in  his  fall, 
broke  his  leg. 

14.  Edward,  unconscious  of  the  extent  of  the  injury, 
with  the  assistance  of  a  cottager,  conveyed  him  home, 
insensible.  The  poor  widow's  cup  of  sorrow  seemed 
now  full  to  the  brim ;  and  William  vainly  endeavored, 
amid  the  agony  of  suffering,  to  console  her. 

1 5.  Edward  was  like  a  ministering  angel ;  he  spoke 
words  of  comfortable  assurance,  and  supported  his 
friend  in  his  arms  while  he  underwent  the  painful  opera- 
tion of  having  the  bone  set.  In  a  short  time,  the  doctor 
pronounced  William  out  of  danger ;  but  he  was  unable 
to  use  the  least  exertion ;  even  exercise  of  mind  was 
forbidden,  and  days  and  weeks  were  now  hurrying  Feb- 
ruary into  March. 

16.  "Alas!"  said  he,  one  day,  to  his  friend,  "there  is  no 
hope  of  the  scholarship  for  me  ;  but  why  should  I  regret 
it,  when  it  only  secures  it  to  you !  And  yet,  for  my 
poor  mother's  sake,  I  can  not  resign  it,  even  to  you, 
without  sorrow  ;  and,  dear  Edward,'*  he  added,  his  whole 
countenance  kindling  up  at  the  idea,  "I  would  have  striven 
against  you  like  a  Dacian  gladiator,  had  it  not  pleased 
Heaven  to  afflict  me  thus !" 

17.  Edward  was  a  youth  of  few  words,  and  after  a 


WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER. 


pause,  he  replied,  "  If  your  theme  is  finished,  I  will  copy 
it  for  you  ;  mine  I  finished  last  night."  "  No,"  said 
William,  "it  is  most.y  in  its  first  rough  state,  and  wants 
yet  a  few  pages  in  conclusion;  yet  you  can  see  it ;  read 
it  at  your  leisure  ;  and,  since  it  is  impossible  for  it  to 
appear,  if  any  ideas  or  phrases  appear  to  you  good,  you 
are  welcome  to  them.  But  I  beg  your  pardon,"  added 
he,  correcting  himself;  "yours,  I  doubt  not,  is  already 
the  best."  ^ 

18.  Edward  did  as  his  friend  desired:  he  took  from 
William's  desk  the  various  sheets  of  the  unfinished 
theme.  He  carried  them  home  with  him,  and,  without 
any  intention  of  appropriating  a  single  word  to  his  own 
benefit,  sat  down  to  its  perusal.  He  read,  and,  as  he 
read,  grew  more  and  more  amazed.  Were  these 
thoughts,  was  this  language  indeed  the  composition  of  a 
youth  like  himself? 

19.  He  was  in  the  generous  ardor  of  youth,  and  his 
heart,  too,  was  devoted  to  a  noble  friendship ;  and  the 
pure  and  lofty  sentiments  of  his  friend's  composition 
aided  the  natural  kindness  of  his  heart.  It  was  mid- 
night when  he  had  finished  the  half-concluded  sentence 
which  ended  the  manuscript ;  and  before  morning,  he 
had  drawn  up  a  statement  of  his  friend's  circumstances, 
accompanied  by  the  rough  copy  of  his  theme,  which  he 
addressed  to  the  heads  of  the  college. 

20.  He  also  made  up  his  own  papers,  not  now  from 
any  desire  or  expectation  of  obtaining  the  scholarship, 
but  to  prove,  as  he  said  in  the  letter  with  which  he  ac- 
companied them,  how  much  worthier  his  friend  was 
than  himself.  All  this  he  did  without  being  aware  that 
he  was  performing  an  act  of  singular  virtue,  but  believ- 
ing merely  that  it  was  the  discharge  of  his  duty.  O ! 
how  beautiful,  how  heroic  is  the  high-minded  integrity 
of  a  young  and  innocent  spirit ! 


WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER.  73 


21.  Edward  did  not  even  consult  his  friend,  the 
schoolmaster,  about  what  he  had  done  ;  but  took  the 
packet,  the  next  morning,  to  the  nearest  coach  town, 
and  called  on  his  friend  William  on  his  return,  intending 
to  keep  from  him  also  the  knowledge  of  what  he  had 
done.  As  soon  as  he  entered  the  door,  he  saw,  by  the 
countenance  of  the  widow,  that  her  son  was  worse. 

22.  He  had  been  so  much  excited  by  the  conversation 
of  the  evening  before,  that  fever  had  come  on,  and,  be- 
fore the  day  was  over,  he  was  in  a  state  of  delirium. 
Edward  wept  as  he  stood  by  his  bed,  and  heard  his 
unconscious  friend  incoherently  raving  in  fragments  of 
his  theme  ;  while  the  widow,  heart-struck  by  this  sudden 
change  for  the  worse,  bowed  herself,  like  the  Hebrew 
mother,  and  refused  to  be  comforted. 

23.  Many  days  passed  over  before  William  was  again 
calm,  and  then  a  melancholy  languor  followed,  which,  ex- 
cepting that  it  was  unaccompanied  with  alarming  symp- 
toms, was  almost  as  distressing  to  witness.  But  the 
doctor  gave  hopes  of  speedy  renovation  as  the  spring 
advanced,  and,  by  the  help  of  his  good  constitution,  his 
entire  recovery. 

24.  As  soon  as  Edward  ceased  to  be  immediately 
anxious  about  his  friend,  he  began  to  be  impatient  for  an 
answer  to  his  letter ;  and  in  process  of  time,  that  answer 
arrived. 

25.  What  the  nature  of  that  answer  was,  any  one  who 
had  seen  his  countenance  might  have  known  ;  and  like 
a  boy,  as  he  was,  he  leaped  up  in  the  exultation  of  his 
heart,  threw  the  letter  to  his  old  grandfather,  who  sat  by 
in  his  quiet  decrepitude,  thinking  the  lad  had  lost  his 
senses  :  and  then,  hardly  waiting  to  hear  the  overflow- 
ings of  the  old  man's  joy  and  astonishment,  folded  up 
the  letter,  and  bounded  off  to  his  friend's  cottage. 

26.  The  widow,  like  the  grandfather,  thought  at  first 


74  WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER. 

that  Edward  had  lost  his  wits  :  he  seized  her  with  an 
eagerness  that  almost  overwhelmed  her,  and  compelled 
her  to  leave  the  household  work  and  sit  down. 

27.  He  related  what  he  had  done  ;  and  then,  from  the 
open  letter  which  he  held  in  his  hand,  read  to  her  a  sin- 
gularly warm  commendation  of  William's  theme,  from 
the  four  learned  heads  of  the  college,  who  accepted  it, 
imperfect  as  it  was,  nominated  him  to  the  scholarship, 
and  concluded  with  a  hope,  which,  to  the  mother's 
heart,  sounded  like  a  prophecy,  that  the  young  man 
might  become  a  future  ornament  to  the  university. 

28.  It  is  impossible  to  say  which  was  greater,  the 
mother's  joy  in  the  praise  and  success  of  her  son,  or  her 
gratitude  to  his  generous  friend,  who  appeared  to  have 
sacrificed  his  prospects  to  those  of  his  rival.  But  while 
she  was  pouring  out  her  full-hearted  torrent  of  grati- 
tude, Edward  put  the  letter  into  her  hand,  and  desired 
her  to  read  the  rest,  while  he  told  the  good  news  to 
William. 

29.  The  letter  concluded  with  great  praise  from  the 
reverend  doctors  of  what  they  styled  Edward's  "  gener- 
ous self-sacrifice  f  adding  that,  in  admiration  thereof, 
as  well  as  in  consideration  of  the  merit  of  his  own 
theme,  they  nominated  him  to  a  similar  scholarship, 
which  was  also  in  their  gift. 

30.  Little  more  need  be  added :  the  two  friends  took 
possession  of  their  rooms  at  the  commencement  of  the 
next  term  ;  and,  following  up  the  course  of  learning  and 
virtue  which  they  had  begun  in  youth,  were  ornaments 
to  human  nature,  as  well  as  to  the  university. 

4.  Co  tem'  po  ra  ries,  living,  at  the  name  time. 

22.  De  lir'  i  urn,  a  wondering  of  mind.     In  co  her'  ent  ly,  unconneetedly. 

23.  Hen  o  va'  tion,  renewal,  a  making  new. 

25.  De  crep'  it  uiU\  broken  or  dlon/ed  xtateof  the  body  by  age. 


WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER.  ?5 


LESSON   XXVII. 

THE    GENTLEMAN. 

1.  True  gentlemen  are  to  be  found  in  every  grade  of 
society.  The  plowman,  with  his  broad;  sunburnt  hands, 
his  homely  dress,  and  his  open,  honest  countenance,  is 
oftener  found  to  be  possessed  of  the  real  attributes  of  a 
gentleman,  than  the  enervated  man-milliner,  who  is 
much  more  careful  of  his  gloves  than  of  his  honor, 
and  who,  if  one  curl  of  his  glossy  wool  were  displaced, 
would  be  thrown  immediately  into  strong  convulsions. 

2.  The  blood  which  flows  in  a  rich  and  venous 
stream  through  the  heart  of  a  Russian  serf,  is  as  pure 
in  the  eyes  of  God  as  the  life-current  which  eddies 
around  the  princely  fountain  of  the  highest  of  England's 
noblemen.  It  is  a  false,  illiberal  idea,  that  because  a 
man  can  not  claim  alliance  with  the  proud  and  wealthy, 
his  name  should  be  stricken  from  the  list  of  gentlemen. 

3.  Which  class,  from  time  immemorial,  has  shed  honor 
and  glory  upon  the  earth — the  so-called  gentleman  of 
fashion,  or  the  true  gentleman  of  nature  ?  Whose  voices 
are  most  heard,  and  to  most  effect,  throughout  the  world  ? 
Why,  those  of  men  born  in  poverty,  but  clothed  by  truth 
with  the  jeweled  robe  of  honor. 

4.  Does  the  mere  fact  of  a  man's  being  able  to  make 
a  bow  with  scrupulous  exactness  constitute  him  a  gen- 
tleman ?  Shall  the  children  of  one  mother  be  divided, 
because  one  portion  are  gifted  with  gracefulness  of  action 
and  coxcombry  of  demeanor ;  while  the  others  will  not 
stoop  to  cringe  at  flattery's  fawn,  or  waste  the  hours 
given  them  by  Heaven  to  improve,  in  the  useless  study  of 
the  puerile  forms  of  fashion  ? 

5.  O,  how    glad    it    makes    one's    heart,  to    see    the 


76  WEBB'S  FOURTH  HEADER. 


:  painted  lizards"  shrink  away  at  the  approach  of  honest 
•   men  fearing  that  they  may  be  called  upon  to  acknowl- 
edge their  own  inferiority ! 

6.  Who  is  the  gentleman  ?  He  who  can  boast  of 
nothing  but  a  name  upon  which  dishonor  has  never 
thrown  its  leprous  poison :  he  who  can  lie  down  on  his 
pillow  at  night,  knowing  that  he  has  done  his  neighbor 
no  injury ;  whose  heart  is  never  closed  to  pity,  and 
whose  arm  is  always  nerved  to  redress  the  injuries  of 
the  oppressed  ;  who  smiles  not  at  misfortune,  and  who 
mocks  not  the  affliction  of  his  fellows. 

7.  He  who  looks  upon  all  men  as  equals,  and  who 
fears  not  to  stand  in  the  presence  of  a  king :  the  man 
who  is  guided  by  moral  honor,  and  not  obliged  to  have 
laws  made  for  his  observance  :  he  who  has  true  democ- 
racy in  his  soul  ;  who  desires  and  gives  to  every  man 
the  enjoyment  of  his  own  opinion,  provided  they  do  not 
infringe  the  decrees  of  justice,  in  its  most  rigid  sense. 

8.  Such  a  man,  and  only  such  a  one,  should  dare  lay 
claim  to  the  proud  appellation  of  a  "  gentleman."  Thank 
God !  we  are  in  a  country  where  the  field  to  honor  and 
renown  is  open  to  all.  The  lowest  freeman  in  the  land 
is  in  part  the  governor  of  its  proudest  officers. 

9.  He  who  tills  the  earth  walks  erect  in  the  proud  dig- 
nity of  natural  rights,  knowing  that  he  can  not  be  op- 
pressed while  he  respects  himself.  There  is  no  distinc- 
tion of  classes  here  :  the  blacksmith  and  the  senator,  the 
shoemaker  and  the  president,  all  hail  each  other  as  gen- 
tlemen, and  may  be  combined  in  one  and. the  same  per- 

g0tl- '  L.  MiLta 

2.  Ed'  dies,  moves  in  a  circle.     Al  li'  ance,  union  by  marriage;  relation. 

3.  In  DM  m«V  ri  al,  the  origin  of  which  is  beyond  memory. 

4.  Scru'  pu  lous,  nice.  De  mean'  or,  behavior.  Cox'  comb  rj,  weak 
vanity.     Ptr  er  ile,  trijling,  childish. 


WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER.  77 


LESSON   XXVIII. 

A      GOOD      DAUGHTER. 

1.  A  good  daughter!  There  are  other  ministries  ol 
love  more  conspicuous  than  hers,  but  none  in  which  a 
gentler,  lovelier  spirit  dwells,  and  none  to  which  the 
heart's  warm  requitals  more  joyfully  respond.  There  is 
no  such  thing  as  a  comparative  estimate  of  a  parent's 
affection  for  one  or  another  child.  There  is  little  which 
he  needs  to  covet,  to  whom  the  treasure  of  a  good  child 
has  been  given. 

2.  But  a  son's  occupations  and  pleasures  carry  him 
more  abroad,  and  he  lives  more  among  temptations, 
which  hardly  permit  the  affection  that  is  following  him, 
perhaps  over  half  the  globe,  to  be  wholly  unmingled 
with  anxiety,  till  the  time  when  he  comes  to  relinquish 
the  shelter  of  his  father's  roof  for  one  of  his  own  ;  while 
a  good  daughter  is  the  steady  light  of  her  parent's  house. 

3.  Her  idea  is  indissolubly  connected  with  that  of  his 
happy  fireside.  She  is  his  morning  sunlight,  and  his 
evening  star.  The  grace,  and  vivacity,  and  tenderness 
of  her  sex  have  their  place  in  the  mighty  sway  which 
she  holds  over  his  spirit.  The  lessons  of  recorded  wis- 
dom which  he  reads  with  her  eyes,  come  to  his  mind 
with  a  new  charm,  as  they  blend  with  the  beloved  melody 
of  her  voice. 

4.  He  scarcely  knows  weariness  which  her  song  does 
not  make  him  forget,  or  gloom  which  is  proof  against  the 
young  brightness  of  her  smile.  She  is  the  pride  and 
ornament  of  his  hospitality,  the  gentle  nurse  of  his  sick- 
ness, and  the  constant  agent  in  those  nameless,  number- 
less acts  of  kindness  which  one  chiefly  cares  to  have 
rendered,  because  they  are  unpretending,  but  all-express- 
ive, proofs  of  love. 


78  WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER. 

5.  And  then  what  a  cheerful  sharer  is  she,  and  what 
an  able  lightener  of  a  mother's  cares !  what  an  ever 
present  delight  and  triumph  to  a  mother's  affection! 
O,  how  little  do  those  daughters  know  of  the  power  which 
God  has  committed  to  them,  and  the  happiness  God 
would  have  them  enjoy,  who  do  not,  every  time  a  pa- 
rent's eye  rests  on  them,  bring  rapture  to  that  parent's 
heart ! 

6.  A  true  love  can  hardly  be  alienated,  and  will  with 
certainty  always  greet  a  parent's  approaching  steps. 
But  a  daughter's  ambition  should  be,  not  to  possess  merely 
the  love  which  feelings  implanted  by  nature  excite,  but 
that  made  intense  and  overflowing  by  approbation  of 
worthy  conduct ;  and  she  is  strangely  blind  to  her  own 
happiness,  as  well  as  undutiful  to  them  to  whom  she  owes 
the  most,  in  whom  the  perpetual  appeals  of  parental  dis- 
interestedness do  not  call  forth  the  prompt  and  full  echo 
of  filial  devotion.  *  j  G  Palkrkt# 


LESSON    XXIX. 

LET    HOME    BE    MADE    HAPPY. 

1.  Industry  is  a  homely  virtue,  yet  worthy  of  all 
praise.  Experience,  religion,  philosophy,  alike  inoul< 
it.  Even  Nature  herself  reads  us  a  frequent  lecture  upon 
it.  Let  us  go,  for  a  moment,  from  the  haunts  of  men  to 
the  bosom  of  the  quiet  forest.  Here  we  . shall  find  no 
noisy  sound  of  the  mill,  the  hammer,  or  the  saw.  It  is 
silent.  But  look  around,  and  see  what  has  been  done 
by  the  busy,  though  quiet,  hand  of  Nature.  See  the 
rock, — how  artfully  it  is  woven  over  with  moss,  as  if  to 
hide  its  roughness  ;  and  how  is  an  object,  of  itself  unin- 
teresting, thus  rendered  beautiful  ? 


WEBB'S  FOUETH  READER.  79 

2.  Look  at  the  ragged  banks  of  the  brawling  stream. 
See  the  tufts  of  grass,  the  spreading  shrubs,  and  gaudy- 
wild  flowers  that  cover  it,  and  thus  turn  into  beauty 
the  very  deformity  of  the  wilderness.  Look  down  upon 
the  valley,  and  see  how  the  withered  leaves,  the  molder- 
ing  branches  of  trees,  the  scattered  stems,  and  other 
objects — witnesses  of  decay  and  death — are  carpeted 
over  by  grasses  and  flowers. 

3.  How  beautiful,  how  ornamental,  are  the  works  of 
Nature,  even  in  the  wilderness  and  the  solitary  place ! 
She  seems  to  decorate  them  all,  as  if  each  spot  were  a 
garden,  in  which  God  might  perchance  walk,  as  once  in 
Eden ;  and  she  would  have  it  fitly  arrayed  for  His  in- 
spection. And  shall  not  man  learn  a  homely  lesson 
from  this  lecture  in  the  wood  ?  Will  you  look  at  Na- 
ture, and  see  her,  with  industrious  fingers,  weaving 
flowers,  and  plants,  and  grasses,  and  trees,  and  shrubs, 
to  ornament  every  part  of  the  earth,  and  will  you  go 
home  no  wiser  for  the  hint  ? 

4.  Will  you  go  home,  to  that  dear  spot  upon  which 
the  heart  should  shine,  as  the  sun  in  spring-time  upon 
the  flowers,  and  permit  it  to  be  the  scene  of  idleness, 
negligence,  and  waste  ?  Will  you  permit  it  to  be  a 
naked  shelter  from  the  weather,  like  the  den  of  a  wild 
beast  ?  Will  you  not  rather  adorn  it  by  your  industry, 
as  Nature  adorns  the  field  and  the  forest  ? 

5.  If  you  say,  that  this  is  somewhat  fanciful,  and 
should  be  regarded  rather  as  illustration  than  argument, 
let  it  be  admitted.  Still,  are  not  the  works  of  Nature 
designed  to  have  an  influence  of  this  kind  upon  us  ? 
Why  do  we  feel  their  beauty,  and  carry  their  images  in 
our  bosoms,  but  as  a  language  in  which  our  Creator 
wou!d  speak  to  us,  move  us,  educate  us  ? 

6.  U  the  trembling  string,  that  is  set  in  the  wind, 
yields  melody  to  the  ear,  shall  we  not  listen  to  it  ?    And 


80  WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER. 

if  Nature  would  thus  become  a  monitor,  shall  we  not 
learn  of  her  ?  If  she  sets  us  a  useful  and  beautiful  ex- 
ample, shall  we  not  follow  it  ?  If  she  adorns  the  dell, 
the  vale,  the  slope,  the  hill, — covering  up  whatever  may 
offend,  and  displaying,  in  rich  colors  and  beautiful 
forms,  her  fairy  designs  of  leaves  and  flowers,  shall  we 
not  imitate  her  ? 

7.  It  seems  to  me  no  violent  stretch  of  faith  to  deem 
all  this  as  meant  for  practical  teaching  to  man.  Nature 
is  industrious  in  adorning  her  dominions ;  and  man,  to 
whom  this  beauty  is  addressed,  should  feel  and  obey 
the  lesson.  Let  him,  too,  be  industrious  in  adorning 
his  domain ;  in  making  his  home,  the  dwelling  of  his 
wife  and  children,  not  only  convenient  and  comfort- 
able, but  pleasant.  Let  him,  as  far  as  circumstances 
will  permit,  be  industrious  in  surrounding  it  with  pleas- 
ing objects ;  in  decorating  it,  within  and  without,  with 
things  that  tend  to  make  it  agreeable  and  attractive. 

8.  Let  industry  and  taste  make  home  the  abode  of 
neatness  and  order, — a  place  which  brings  satisfaction 
to  every  inmate,  and  which  in  absence  draws  back  the 
heart,  by  the  fond  associations  of  comfort  and  content. 
Let  this  be  done,  and  this  sacred  spot  will  become  more 
surely  the  scene  of  cheerfulness,  kindness,  and  peace. 
Ye  parents,  who  would  have  your  children  happy,  be 
industrious  to  bring  them  up  in  the  midst  of  a  pleasant, 
a  cheerful,  a  happy  home. 

9.  Waste  not  your  time  in  accumulating  unnecessary 
wealth  for  them  ;  but  plant  their  minds  and  souls,  in  the 
way  proposed,  with  the  seeds  of  virtue  and  true  pros- 
perity. Let  children  join  with  their  parents  in  trying 
to  make  home  a  happy  place.  Let  them  not  forget  that 
they  may  do  much  to  promote  this  object.  They  can 
at  least  practice  obedience  to  parents,  und  kindness  to 
all  around.  Fireside  Educaton. 


WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER.  81 

LESSON  XXX. 

MORTALITY  AND  IMMORTALITY. 
MORTALITY. 

1.  Child  of  mortality,  whence  comest  thou  ?  why  is 
thy  countenance  sad,  and  why  are  thy  eyes  red  with 
weeping  ? — I  have  seen  the  rose  in  its  beauty  ;  it  spread 
its  leaves  to  the  morning  sun.  I  returned  :  it  was  dying 
upon  its  stalk ;  the  grace  of  the  form  of  it  was  gone ; 
its  loveliness  was  vanished  away ;  its  leaves  were  scat- 
tered on  the  ground,  and  no  one  gathered  them  again. 

2.  A  stately  tree  grew  on  the  plain  ;  its  branches 
were  covered  with  verdure ;  its  boughs  spread  wide, 
and  made  a  goodly  shadow  ;  the  trunk  was  like  a  strong 
pillar  ;  the  roots  were  like  crooked  fangs.  I  returned  : 
the  verdure  was  nipped  by  the  east  wind  ;  the  branches 
were  lopped  away  by  the  ax ;  the  worm  had  made  its 
way  into  the  trunk,  and  the  heart  thereof  was  decayed ; 
it  moldered  away,  and  fell  to  the  ground. 

3.  I  have  seen  the  insects  sporting  in  the  sunshine, 
and  darting  along  the  streams ;  their  wings  glittered 
with  gold  and  purple ;  their  bodies  shone  like  the  green 
emerald  ;  they  were  more  numerous  than  I  could  count ; 
their  motions  were  quicker  than  my  eye  could  glance. 
I  returned:  they  were  brushed  into  the  pool;  they  were 
perishing  with  the  evening  breeze ;  the  swallow  had 
devoured  them ;  the  pike  had  seized  them ;  there  were 
found  none  of  so  great  a  multitude. 

4.  I  have  seen  man  in  the  pride  of  his  strength ;  his 
cheeks  glowing  with  beauty ;  his  limbs  were  full  of 
activity ;  he  leaped ;  he  walked ;  he  ran ;  he  rejoiced 
in  that  he  was  more  excellent  than  those.  I  returned : 
he  lay  stiff  and  cold  on  the  bare  ground ;  his  feet  could 


82  WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER. 

no  longer  move,  nor  his  hands  stretch  themselves  out ; 
his  life  was  departed  from  him ;  and  the  breath  was 
gone  out  of  his  nostrils. 

5.  Therefore  do  I  weep  because  death  is  in  the 
world  ;  the  spoiler  is  among  the  works  of  God :  all  that 
is  made  must  be  destroyed ;  all  that  is  born  must  die : 
let  me  alone,  for  I  will  weep  yet  longer. 


IMM  ORT  A.LITY. 

6.  I  have  seen  the  flower  withering  on  the  stalk, 
and  its  bright  leaves  spread  on  the  ground. — I  looked 
again :  it  sprung  forth  afresh ;  its  stem  was  crowned 
with  new  buds,  and  its  sweetness  filled  the  air. 

7.  I  have  seen  the  sun  set  in  the  west,  and  the  shades 
of  night  shut  in  the  wide  horizon  :  there  was  no  color, 
nor  shape,  nor  beauty,  nor  music  ;  gloom  and  darkness 
brooded  around.  I  looked :  the  sun  broke  forth  again 
from  the  east,  and  gilded  the  mountain-tops ;  the  lark 
rose  to  meet  him  from  her  low  nest,  and  the  shades  of 
darkness  fled  away. 

8.  I  have  seen  the  insect,  being  come  to  its  full  size, 
languish,  and  refuse  to  eat :  it  spun  itself  a  tomb,  and 
was  shrouded  in  the  silken  cone ;  it  lay  without  feet, 
or  shape,  or  power  to  move. — I  looked  again :  it  had 
burst  its  tomb ;  it  was  full  of  life,  and  sailed  on  colored 
wings  through  the  soft  air ;  it  rejoiced  in  its  new  bein<x- 

9.  Thus  shall  it  be  with  thee,  O  man !  and  so  shall 
thy  life  be  renewed.  Beauty  shall  spring  up  out  of 
ashes,  and  life  out  of  the  dust.  A  little  while  shalt  thou 
lie  in  the  ground,  as  the  seed  lies  in  the  bosom  of  the 
earth :  but  thou  shalt  be  raised  again ;  and  thou  shalt 
never  die  any  more. 


WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER.  83 

10.  Who  is  He  that  comes  to  burst  open  the  prison 
doors  of  the  tomb,  to  bid  the  dead  awake,  and  to  gather 
His  redeemed  from  the  four  winds  of  heaven  ?  He 
descends  on  a  fiery  cloud;  the  sound  of  a  trumpet  goes 
before  Him ;  thousands  of  angels  are  on  his  right  hand. 
It  is  Jesus,  the  Son  of  God ;  the  Savior  of  men ;  the 
Friend  of  the  good.  He  comes  in  the  glory  of  His 
Father;  He  has  received  power  from  on  high. 

11.  Mourn  not,  therefore,  child  of  immortality,  for 
the  spoiler,  the  cruel  spoiler,  that  laid  waste  the  works 
of  God,  is  subdued.  Jesus  has  conquered  Death  :  child 
of  immortality  !  mourn  no  longer. 


LESSON  XXXI. 

THE    RAINDROP. 

1.  0  mark  yon  wanderer  of  the  skies, 

Which  floats  along  so  fast ; 
'Tis  gliding  down  the  stream  of  Time, 
From  hoary  ages  past. 

2.  For  it  was  born  before  the  light 

Burst  from  yon  orb  so  free, 
Or  Time  had  plumed  its  viewless  wing 
From  out  eternity. 

3.  Rude  Time  has  left  on  it  no  trace 

Of  age,  nor  fell  decay ; 
For  when  his  hand  would  touch  its  yauth, 
It  swiftly  glides  away. 

4.  'Tis  bright  and  pure  till  from  the  olouds 

It  drops  to  bless  the  earth, 
Whose  base  return  is  but  to  mar 
The  radiance  of  its  birth. 


84 

WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER. 

5. 

The  ungrateful  earth  not  only  stains 

And  steals  its  sweet  perfume, 

But  forms  beneath  its  thirsty  clods 

A  dark  and  loathsome  tomb. 

6. 

Yet  here,  though  held  in  durance  long, 

At  last  will  come  a  day, 

When  it  will  burst  earth's  caverns  deep, 

And  gladly  soar  away. 

1 

What  it  was  first  no  tongue  can  tell — 

Perchance  an  angel's  tear ! — 

And  now  it  roams  too  pure  and  bright 

To  find  a  lodgment  here. 

8. 

And  so  it  wanders  o'er  the  earth, 

To  all  a  welcome  guest ; 

But  never  finds,  not  e'en  in  flowers, 

Congenial  place  of  rest. 

9. 

It  often  mounts  up  with  the  clouds, 

To  gain  its  native  sphere  ; 

But  failing  in  its  heavenward  flight, 

Drops  back  to  earth — a  tear  ! 

10. 

It  erst  appeared  when  brooding  night 

Hung  o'er  the  dark  abyss  ; 

And  then  it  smiled  in  Eden's  bower, 

'Mid  innocence  and  bliss ! 

11. 

Anon  it  fell  from  Eve's  sad  cheek, 

When  from  the  garden  driven, 

To  roam  a  stranger  o'er  the  earth, 

By  sin  and  sorrow  riven  ! 

12. 

And  then  it  blended  with  the  clouds, 

And  swept  o'er  hill  and  dale  ; 

And  shone  a  gem  in  that  rich  bow 

lg-: — 

Which  Hope  spread  o'er  the  vale  ! 

webb's  fourth  reader.        85 

13.  It  oft  has  decked  the  ocean's  wave, 

And  sported  o'er  the  deep, 
And  searched  all  through  its  azure  halls, 
Where  slimy  monsters  creep. 

14.  It  there  has  kissed  the  pallid  cheek 

Of  cold,  uncoffined  dead, 
Who  lie  among  the  coral  groves 
Which  deck  the  ocean's  bed  ! 

15.  It  may  have  flowed  from  infant  eyes, 

Ere  sin  had  entered  there  ; 
Or  traced  its  way  o'er  Mercy's  cheek, 
When  looking  on  Despair ! 

16.  And  it  has  been  a  mother's  tear, 

Shed  with  her  latest  breath, 
When  last  she  kissed  her  little  ones, 
And  bowed  her  soul  in  death ! 

17.  Then  from  the  weeping  orphan's  eye 

It  fell,  her  cheeks  to  lave  ; 
Or  giving  fragrance  to  the  flowers 
That  bloom  upon  her  grave  ! 

18.  When  Mary  bathed  the  Savior's  feet, 

And  wiped  them  with  her  hair, 
This  drop,  among  its  sister  tears, 
Was  paid  in  tribute  there ! 

19.  Perchance  the  pearl  which  Jesus  wept, 

When  Lazarus  was  dead, 
Was  this  pure  drop  !  or  that  which  o'er 
Jerusalem  He  shed  ! 

20.  It  may  have  been — it  is  so  pure  ! — 

Commingled  in  that  tide, 
Which,  well  to  wash  our  sins  away, 
Gushed  from  the  Savior's  side  ! 


86 

WEBB'S  FOTJRTII  READER. 

21. 

It  softly  floats  on  zephyr's  wing, 
To  kiss  the  opening  flowers, 

And  brightly  sparkles  in  the  sun, 
When  fall  the  jeweled  showers. 

22. 

It  swells  the  blushing,  luscious  peach, 

And  courses  up  the  vine ; 
Then  bursting  from  the  ripened  grape, 

It  mingles  in  the  wine  ! 

23. 

When  fever  burns  the  pilgrim's  lips, 

How  sweet  its  cooling  aid, 
When  dropping  from  the  welcome  cloud, 

Or  sparkling  o'er  the  glade ! 

24. 

The  sterile  glebe  oft  feels  its  power; 

And,  springing  from  the  soil, 
The  thrifty  grain  has  ripened  fast, 

To  bless  the  reaper's  toil. 

25. 

Ah !  it  is  gone !  and  thus  away 
Seems  gliding  all  that's  fair  ; 

It  flits  a  moment  here  below, 
Then  vanishes  in  air  ! 

26. 

But  as  the  evanescent  drop, 

That  late  to  me  was  driven, 
Now  soars  above,  the  pure  and  good 

Will  soon  ascend  to  Heaven  ! 

Sidney  Dyxr. 

L*-W* 

6.  Du'  ranee,  imprisonment. 

10.  Erst,/™*. 

11.  A  non',  soon. 

17.  Lave,  bathe,  wash. 
20.  Com  min'  gled,  mixed. 

WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER.  87 


LESSON  XXXII. 

WASHINGTON   WITH  HIS  MOTHER   FOR  THE  LAST  TIME. 

1.  Who  that  has  parted  with  his  aged  mother,  and 
received  her  last  blessing,  as  he  was  about  to  go  forth 
into  a  land  of  strangers,  to  seek  a  home  for  himself,  can 
read  the  following  last  interview  between  Washington 
and  his  mother,  and  suppress  the  rising  tear  that  starts 
unbidden,  at  the  remembrance  of  such  a  scene  ? 

2.  Time  may  dim  the  recollection  of  many  of  the  in- 
cidents of  youth  when  we  come  in  contact  with  the 
world ;  but  there  is  a  magic  in  the  mother's  voice.  Her 
well-remembered  tone  of  admiration,  her  kindness  and 
unceasing  care  will  rise  up  before  him  who  loved  her, 
and  follow  him  as  a  guardian  angel  in  all  the  varied 
scenes  of  life.  Happy  the  man  who  was  blessed  with 
such  a  mother,  and  loved  her :  happier  he  who  having 
had  such,  forgets  not  her  love,  her  kindness,  and  instruc- 
tions. 

3.  Immediately  after  the  organization  of  the  present 
government,  Gen.  Washington  repaired  to  Fredericks- 
burg, to  pay  his  humble  duty  to  his  mother  preparatory 
to  his  departure  for  New  York.  An  affecting  scene 
ensued.  The  son  feelingly  marked  the  ravages  a  tor- 
turing disease  had  made  upon  the  aged  frame  of  his 
mother,  and  thus  addressed  her : 

4.  "  The  people,  madam,  have  been  pleased,  with  the 
most  flattering  unanimity,  to  elect  me  to  the  chief 
magistracy  of  the  United  States ;  but  before  I  can  as. 
sume  the  functions  of  that  office,  I  have  come  to  bid  you 
an  affectionate  farewell.  So  soon  as  the  public  busi- 
ness, which  must  necessarily  be  encountered  in  arranging 


88  WEBB'S  FOURTH  HEADER. 

a  new  government,  can  be  disposed  of,  I  shall  hasten  to 
Virginia,  and" — 

5.  Here  the  matron  interrupted  him :  "  You  will  see 
me  no  more.  My  great  age,  and  the  disease  which  is 
fast  approaching  my  vitals,  warn  me  that  I  shall  not  be 
long  in  this  world.  I  trust  in  God,  I  am  somewhat  pre- 
pared for  a  better.  But  go,  George  ;  fulfill  the  high  des- 
tinies which  Heaven  appears  to  assign  you.  Go,  my 
son,  and  may  Heaven's  and  your  mother's  blessing  be 
with  you  always." 

6.  The  president  was  deeply  affected.  His  head 
rested  on  the  shoulder  of  his  parent.  That  brow,  on 
which  Fame  had  wreathed  the  purest  lam  el  Virtue  ever 
gave  to  created  man,  relaxed  from  its  lofty  bearing. 
That  look,  which  could  have  awed  a  Roman  senate  in 
its  Fabrican  day,  was  bent  in  full  tenderness  upon  the 
time-worn  features  of  this  venerable  matron. 

7.  The  great  man  wept.  A  thousand  recollections 
crowded  upon  his  mind,  as  Memory,  retracing  scenes 
long  past,  carried  him  back  to  his  paternal  mansion  and 
the  days  of  his  youth  ;  and  there,  the  center  of  attrac- 
tion, was  his  mother,  whose  care,  instructions,  and  dis- 
cipline had  prepared  him  to  reach  the  topmost  bight  of 
laudable  ambition.  Yet  how  were  his  glories  forgotten 
while  he  gazed  upon  her  with  whom  he  must  soon  part 
to  meet  no  more ! 

8.  The  matron's  predictions  were  true.  The  disease 
which  had  so  long  preyed  upon  her  frame  completed  its 
triumph,  and  she  expired  at  the  age  of  eighty-five,  con- 
fiding in  the  promises  of  immortality  to  the  humble 
believer. 


WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER.  89 

LESSON  XXXIII. 

"  MARY,  THE  MOTHER  OF  WASHINGTON." 

1 .  The  monument  marking  the  repose  of  the  mother 
of  Washington  bears  the  above  simple  yet  affecting 
inscription.  No  eulogy  could  be  higher — none  could 
more  effectually  appeal  to  the  heart  of  every  American. 
By  the  great  mass  of  our  own  countrymen,  even,  too 
little  is  known  of  this  distinguished  woman. 

2.  Every  relic  of  her  should  be  carefully  preserved, 
as  a  memento  of  the  "  guide  who  directed  the  steps  of 
the  youthful  hero,  when  they  needed  a  guardian," 
and  of  her  to  whose  forming  care  Washington  himself 
ascribed  the  origin  of  his  fortunes  and  his  fame. 

3.  Mary  Washington  was  a  descendant  from  the 
family  of  Ball,  who  settled  as  English  colonists  on  the 
banks  of  the  Potomac.  In  her  person,  she  was  of  mid- 
dle size,  and  finely  formed ;  her  features  pleasing,  yet 
strongly  marked.  By  the  death  of  her  husband,  she  be- 
came involved  in  the  cares  of  a  young  family,  at  a  period 
when  those  cares  seem  most  to  claim  the  aid  and  con- 
trol of  the  father. 

4.  Thus  it  was  left  to  this  eminent  woman  to  form,  in 
the  youth-time  of  her  son,  those  great  and  essential  qual- 
ities which  gave  luster  to  the  glories  of  his  after  life. 
George  was  then  but  twelve  years  of  age,  and  he  has 
been  heard  to  say  that  he  knew  little  of  his  father,  except 
the  remembrance  of  his  person,  and  his  parental  fondness. 

5.  The  home  of  Mrs.  Washington,  of  which  she  was 
always  mistress,  was  a  pattern  of  order.  There  the 
levity  and  indulgence  common  to  youth  were  tempered 
by  a  well-regulated  restraint,  which,  while  it  neither 
suppressed  nor  condemned  any  rational  enjoyment  usual 

8*~ 


90  WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER. 

in  the  spring-time  of  life,  prescribed  those  enjoyments 
within  the  bounds  of  moderation  and  propriety ;  and 
thus  the  chief  was  taught  the  duty  of  obedience,  which 
prepared  him  to  command. 

6.  The  late  Lawrence  Washington,  of  Chotank,  one 
of  the  associates  of  the  juvenile  years  of  George,  thus 
describes  his  mother  :  "  I  was  often  with  George,  a  play- 
mate, a  schoolmate,  and  a  companion.  Of  his  mother 
I  was  ten  times  more  afraid  than  I  ever  was  of  my  own 
parents  ;  she  awed  me  in  the  midst  of  her  kindness,  for 
she  was  indeed  truly  kind.  And  even  now,  when  time 
has  whitened  my  locks,  and  I  am  the  grandparent  of  a 
second  generation,  I  can  not  call  to  mind  that  majestic 
woman  without  feelings  it  is  impossible  to  describe. 

7.  "  Whoever  has  seen  that  awe-inspiring  air  and  man- 
ner, so  characteristic  in  the  '  Father  of  his  Country,'  will 
remember  the  matron  as  she  appeared,  when  the  presid- 
ing genius  of  her  well-ordered  household."  Such  were 
the  domestic  influences  under  which  the  mind  of  young 
Washington  was  formed  ;  and  his  behavior  toward  his 
mother,  at  all  times,  testified  that  he  appreciated  her 
character,  and  profited  by  her  instructions.  Even  to 
the  last  moments  of  his  venerable  parent,  he  yielded  to  her 
will  the  most  dutiful  and  implicit  obedience,  and  felt  for 
her  the  highest  respect  and  most  enthusiastic  attachment. 

8.  When  the  comforting  and  glorious  intelligence  ar- 
rived, of  Washington's  crossing  the  Delaware,  in  Decem- 
ber, 1776,  an  event  which  occurred  in  the  "hour  of 
peril,"  and  restored  the  hopes  of  our  country's  sucoetg 
from  the  very  brink  of  despair,  a  number  of  her  friends 
waited  on  the  mother  with  letters  and  congratulations. 
She  received  them  with  calmness,  and  observed  that  it 
\v;is  pleasurable  news.  In  reply  to  their  congratula- 
tions, she  said  :  "  My  good  sirs,  here  is  too  much  flattery. 
Still,  George  will  not  forget  the  lessons  I  early  taught 


WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER.  91 

him :  he  will  not  forget  himself,  though  he  is  the  subject 
of  so  much  praise." 

9.  After  an  absence  of  nearly  seven  years,  the  mother 
was  again  permitted  to  see  and  embrace  her  illustrious 
son.  When  Washington  had  dismounted,  in  the  midst 
of  a  numerous  and  brilliant  suite,  he  sent  to  apprise  her 
of  his  arrival,  and  to  know  when  it  would  be  her  pleas- 
sure  to  receive  him.  Now  mark  the  force  of  early  edu- 
cation and  habits,  in  this  interview  of  the  great  Wash- 
ington with  his  admirable  parent  and  instructor.  No 
pageantry  of  war  proclaimed  his  coming — no  trumpets 
sounded — no  banners  waved. 

10.  Full  well  he  knew  that  the  matron  would  not  be 
moved  by  all  the  pride  that  glory  ever  gave,  nor  all  the 
"  pomp  and  circumstance"  of  power.  Alone  and  on 
foot,  the  general-in-chief  of  the  combined  armies  of 
France  and  America — the  deliverer  of  his  country — the 
hero  of  the  age — repaired  to  pay  his  humble  duty  to  her 
whom  he  venerated  as  the  author  of  his  being — the 
founder  of  his  fortune  and  his  fame. 

11.  The  mother  was  alone:  her  aged  hands  were  em- 
ployed in  the  works  of  domestic  industry,  when  the  good 
news  was  announced,  that  the  "  victor  chief  was  in  wait- 
ing at  the  threshold.  She  welcomed  him  with  a  warm  em- 
brace, and  by  the  well-remembered  and  endearing  name 
of  his  childhood.  She  inquired  as  to  his  health,  remarked 
the  lines  which  mighty  cares  and  many  trials  had  made 
on  his  manly  countenance,  spoke  much  of  old  times  and 
old  friends,  but  of  his  glory — not  one  word. 

12.  When  Lafayette  was  about  to  depart  for  his  native 
land,  in  the  autumn  of  1784,  he  went  to  pay  his  parting 
respects  to  the  mother  of  the  hero,  and  ask  hr  L  blessing. 
The  marquis  spoke  of  the  happy  effects  o'  the  Revolu- 
tion, the  goodly  prospects  which  opened  upon  indepen- 
dent America,  and  expressed  his  love  and  admiration  of 


92  WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER. 

her  noble  son.  She  blessed  him,  and  to  the  encomiums 
which  he  lavished  upon  the  hero,  the  matron  replied : 
"  I  am  not  surprised  at  what  George  has  done,  for  he 
was  always  a  very  good  boy." 

13.  In  her  latter  days,  the  mother  often  spoke  of  her 
own  good  boy — of  the  merits  of  his  early  life — of  his  love 
and  dutifulness  to  herself ;  but  of  him  as  the  deliverer  of  his 
country — the  chief  magistrate  of  the  great  republic — she 
never  spoke.  Call  you  this  insensibility,  or  want  of  am- 
bition ?  O,  no  !  her  ambition  had  been  gratified  to  over- 
flowing. She  had  taught  him  to  be  good  ;  that  he  be- 
came great  when  the  opportunity  presented,  was  a  con- 
sequence, not  a  cause. 

14.  Mrs.  Washington  was  always  pious  ;  but  in  later 
life,  her  devotions  were  performed  in  private.  She  was 
in  the  habit  of  repairing  every  day  to  a  secluded  spot, 
formed  by  rocks  and  trees,  near  her  dwelling,  where, 
abstracted  from  the  world  and  worldly  things,  she  com- 
muned with  her  Creator  in  humiliation  and  prayer.  The 
incidents  in  her  life  were  not  very  numerous. 

15.  It  can  not  he  said  that  she  educated  her  son  with 
a  view  to  his  being  a  warrior  or  a  statesman ;  but  she 
did  that  which  was  better — she  filled  his  mind  with  plain 
principles  and  correct  opinions,  and  taught  him  to  cherish 
honorable  and  religious  sentiments,  without  filling  his 
heart  with  pride,  or  his  head  with  visions  of  glory. 

16.  Many  mothers  have  done  as  much  for  their  sons 
as  Mary  Washington  did  for  George ;  but,  as  the  world 
reasons,  few  have  been  so  successful.  In  the  view  of 
wisdom,  however,  that  mother  who  sees  her  children 
growing  up  healthy,  virtuous, enlightened,  respected,  and 
happy,  in  he  common  walks  of  life,  is,  all  things  con- 
sidered, place> t  in  quite  as  enviable  a  situation  as  she  who 
watches  with  anxiety  the  progress  of  her  offspring  ascend- 
ing the  craggy  and  thorny  paths  of  fame  and  honor. 


WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER.  93 


LESSON  XXXIY. 

CAPTAIN    HARDY    AND    NATHAN. 

Nathan.  Good  morning,  captain.  How  do  you  stand 
this  hot  weather  ? 

Captain.  Bless  you,  boy,  it  is  a  cold  bath  to  what  we 
had  at  Monmouth  ?  Did  I  ever  tell  you  about  that 
battle  ? 

N.  I  have  always  understood  that  it  was  very  hot 
that  day ! 

Cap.  Bless  you,  boy,  it  makes  my  crutch  sweat  to 
think  of  it :  and  if  I  did  not  hate  long  stories,  I  would 
tell  you  things  about  that  battle,  such  as  you  would  not 
believe,  you  logue,  if  I  did  not  tell  you.  It  beats  all 
nature  how  hot  it  was. 

N.  I  wonder  you  did  not  all  die  of  heat  and  fatigue. 

Cap.  Why,  so  we  should,  if  the  regulars  had  only 
died  first ;  but,  you  see,  they  never  liked  the  Jerseys, 
and  would  not  lay  their  bones  there.  Now,  if  I  did  not 
hate  long  stories,  I  would  tell  you  all  about  that  busi- 
ness, for  you  see  they  do  not  do  things  so  now-a-days. 

N.  How  so  ?     Do  not  people  die  as  they  used  to  ? 

Cap.  Bless  you,  no.  It  beat  all  nature  to  see  how 
long  the  regulars  would  kick  after  we  killed  them. 

N.  What !  kick  after  they  were  killed !  That  does 
beat  all  nature,  as  you  say. 

Cap.  Come,  boy,  no  splitting  hairs  with  an  old  conti- 
nental, for  you  see,  if  I  did  not  hate  long  stories,  I 
would  tell  you  things  about  this  battle,  that  you  would 
never  believe.  Why,  bless  you,  when  General  Washing- 
ton told  us  we  might  give  it  to  them,  we  gave  it  to  them, 
I  tell  you. 

N.  You  gave  what  to  them  ? 


94  WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER. 

Cap.  Cold  lead,  you  rogue.  Why,  bless  you,  we 
fired  twice  to  their  once,  you  see ;  and  if  I  did  not  hate 
long  stories,  I  would  tell  you  how  we  did  it.  You  must 
know,  the  regulars  wore  their  close-bodied  red  coats, 
because  they  thought  we  were  afraid  of  them ;  but  we 
did  not  wear  any  coats,  you  see,  because  we  had  none. 

N.  How  happened  you  to  be  without  coats  ? 

Cap.  Why,  bless  you,  they  would  wear  out,  and  the 
States  could  not  buy  us  any  more,  you  see,  and  so  we 
marched  the  lighter,  and  worked  the  freer  for  it.  Now, 
if  I  did  not  hate  long  stories,  I  would  tell  you  what  the 
general  said  to  me  the  next  day,  when  I  had  a  touch 
of  the  rheumatism  from  lying  on  the  field  without  a 
blanket  all  night.  You  must  know,  it  was  raining  hard 
just  then,  and  we  were  pushing  on  like  all  nature  after 
the  regulars. 

N.  What  did  the  general  say  to  you  ? 

Cap.  Not  a  syllable  says  he,  but  off  comes  his  coat, 
and  he  throws  it  over  my  shoulders:  "There,  captain," 
says  he,  "  wear  that,  for  we  can  not  spare  you  yet." 
Now  that  beat  all  nature,  hey  ? 

N.  So  you  wore  the  general's  coat,  did  you  ? 

Cap.  Lord  bless  your  simple  heart,  no.  I  did  not  feel 
sick  after  that,  I  tell  you.  "  No,  general,"  says  I,  "  the  v  can 
spare  me  better  than  they  can  you,  just  now,  and  so  I 
will  take  the  will  for  the  deed,"  says  I. 

N.  You  will  never  forget  this  kindness,  captain. 

Cap.  Not  I,  boy!  I  never  feel  a  twinge  of  the  rheu- 
matism, but  what  I  say,  God  bless  the  general.  Wow,  you 
see,  I  hate  long  stories,  or  I  would  tell  you  how  I  gave 
it  to  a  regular  that  tried  to  shoot  the  general  at  Mon- 
mouth. You  know  we  were  at  close  quarters,  and  the 
genera]  was  right  between  the  two  fires. 

N.  I  wonder  he  was  not  shot. 

Cap.  Bless  your  ignorant  soul,  nobody  could  kill  the 


WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER.  05 

general ;  but  you  see,  a  sneaking  regular  did  not  know 
this,  and  so  he  leveled  his  musket  at  him ;  and  you  see, 
I  knew  what  he  was  after,  and  I  gave  the  general's 
horse  a  slap  on  the  haunches,  and  it  beats  all  nature 
how  he  sprung,  and  the  general  all  the  while  as  straight 
as  a  gun-barrel. 

N.  And  you  saved  the  general's  life. 

Cap.  Did  I  not  tell  you  nobody  could  kill  the  gen- 
eral ?  but,  you  see,  his  horse  was  in  the  rake  of  my  gun, 
and  I  wanted  to  get  the  start  of  that  cowardly  regular. 

N.  -Did  you  hit  him  ? 

Cap.  Bless  your  simple  soul,  does  the  thunder  hit 
where  it  strikes !  though  the  fellow  made  me  blink  a 
little,  for  he  carried  away  part  of  this  ear. — See  there  ! 
(Showing  his  ear.)     Now  does  not  that  beat  all  nature  ? 

N.  I  think  it  does.  But  tell  me,  how  is  it  that  you 
took  all  these  things  so  calmly  ?  What  made  you  so 
contented  under  your  privations  and  hardships  ? 

Cap.  O,  bless  your  young  soul,  we  got  used  to  it.  Be- 
sides, you  see,  the  general  never  flinched  nor  grumbled. 

N.  Yes,  but  you  served  without  being  paid. 

Cap.  So  did  the  general,  and  the  States,  you  know, 
were  poor  as  all  nature. 

N.  But  you  had  families  to  support. 

Cap.  Ay,  ay,  but  the  general  always  told  us  that 
God  and  our  country  would  take  care  of  them,  you  see. 
Now,  if  I  did  not  hate  long  stories,  I  would  tell  you  how 
it  turned  out  just  as  he  said,  for  he  beat  all  nature  for 
guessing  right. 

N.  Then  you  feel  happy,  and  satisfied  with  what  you 
have  done  for  your  country,  and  what  she  has  done  for 
you  ? 

Cap.  Why,  bless  you,  if  I  had  not  left  one  of  my  legs 
at  Yorktown,  I  would  not  have  touched  a  stiver  of  the 
States'  money ;  and  as  it  is,  I  am  so  old,  that  I  shall  not 


9G  WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER. 

need  it  long.  You  must  know,  I  long  to  see  the  gen- 
eral again,  for  if  he  does  not  hate  long  stories  as  bad 
as  I  do,  I  shall  tell  him  all  about  America,  you  see, 
for  it  beats  all  nature  how  things  have  changed  since 
he  left  us. 


LESSON  XXXV. 

EARLY  TO  BED  AND  EARLY  TO  RISE. 

1.  "  Early  to  bed  and  early  to  rise" — 

Ay,  note  it  down  in  your  brain, 
For  it  helpeth  to  make  the  foolish  wise, 

And  uproots  the  weeds  of  pain. 
Ye  who  are  walking  on  thorns  of  care, 

Who  sigh  for  a  softer  bower, 
Try  what  can  be  done  in  the  morning  sun, 

And  make  use  of  the  early  hour. 

2.  Full  many  a  day  for  ever  is  lost 

By  delaying  its  work  till  to-morrow  ; 
The  minutes  of  sloth  have  often  cost 

Long  years  of  bootless  sorrow. 
And  ye  who  would  win  the  lasting  wealth 

Of  content  and  peaceful  power — 
Ye  who  would  couple  Labor  and  Health, 

Must  begin  at  the  early  hour. 

3.  We  make  bold  promises  to  Time, 

Yet,  alas !  too  often  break  them  ; 
We  mock  at  the  wings  of  the  king  of  kings, 

And  think  we  ran  owrtakr  them. 
But  why  loiter  away  the  prime  of  the  day, 

Knowing  that  clouds  may  1ow»t  ? 


WEBB'S  FOUKTH  READEK.  97 

Is  it  not  safer  to  make  Life's  hay 
At  the  beam  of  an  early  hour  ? 

4.  Nature  herself  ever  shows  her  best 

Of  gems  to  the  gaze  of  the  lark, 
When  the  spangles  of  light  on  Earth's  green  breast 

Put  out  the  stars  of  the  dark. 
If  we  love  the  purest  pearl  of  the  dew, 

And  the  richest  breath  of  the  flower — 
If  our  spirits  would  greet  the  fresh  and  the  sweet, 

Go  forth  in  the  early  hour. 

5.  0 !  pleasure  and  rest  are  more  easily  found 

When  we  start  through  Morning's  gate. 
To  sum  up  our  figures,  or  plow  up  our  ground, 

And  weave  out  the  threads  of  Fate. 
The  eye  looketh  bright  and  the  heart  keepeth  light, 

And  man  holdeth  the  conqueror's  power, 
When  ready  and  brave,  he  chains  Time  as  his  slave 

By  the  help  of  the  early  hour.  Euza  Coofc 


LESSON    XXXVI. 

EXCEL. 

1.  Every  young  man,  starting  in  life,  should  write  one 
resolution  upon  his  heart,  and  that  is,  "  I  will  excel." 
We  care  not  what  his  business  may  be, — whether  it  is 
professional,  scientific,  mechanical,  agricultural,  manu- 
facturing, or  any  department  of  labor, — every  man  should 
strive  to  excel. 

2.  The  mere  wish  for  excellence,  the  ambition  to  surpass 
others,  is  possessed  by  all,  except  the  veriest  drones  and 
boobies.     But,  wish  and  ambition  alone  will  not  effect 


98  WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER. 

the  object.  He  who  excels  must  study  for  it.  He 
must  give  thought  to  it ;  he  must  be  laborious  in  pur- 
suit ;  he  must  turn  neither  to  the  right  hand  nor  to  the 
left,  if  he  would  reach  the  topmost  round  of  the  ladder. 

3.  He  who  sets  out  determining  to  excel,  rarely  fails. 
At  the  bidding  of  Energy  aid  appears  to  come,  which 
the  slothful  look  upon  with  surprise,  and  term  the  suc- 
cess the  work  of  blind  but  capricious  Fortune.  They  are 
unwilling  to  admit  that  it  is  the  achievement  of  the  man 
himself  that  thus  pushes  him  forward,  for  it  would  be  a 
censure  upon  their  own  idleness. 

4.  In  every  department  of  labor  the  man  that  excels 
is  the  one  who  has  plenty  to  do,  whether  others  are  idle 
or  not.  Excellence  ever  commands  employment.  Find 
a  first-rate  clerk,  a  quick,  ready  journeyman  mechanic, 
a  skillful  artisan,  or  active  laborer,  long  out  of  employ,  if 
you  can,  providing  they  are  honest  and  industrious 
men  ;  or,  find  an  able  advocate  at  the  bar,  an  eloquent 
divine,  a  physician  of  reputation,  out  of  clients,  out  of 
a  station,  or  out  of  patients !  The  thing  never  has 
been — never  will  be. 

5.  Then,  Young  Man,  let  your  resolution  be  formed 
to  excel.  Live  for  it  day  by  day,  and,  as  sure  as  you 
are  worthy,  so  sure  you  will  rank  among  your  fellows. 


LESSON  XXXVII. 

ELOCUTION  AND  READING. 


1.  The  business  of  training  our  youth  in  elocution, 
must  be  commenced  in  childhood.  The  first  school  is 
the  nursery.  There,  at  least,  may  be  formed  a  distinct 
articulation,  which  is  the  first   requisite  for  good  speak- 


WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER.  99 

ing.  How  rarely  is  it  found  in  perfection  among  our 
orators !  Words,  says  one,  referring  to  articulation, 
should  "  be  delivered  out  from  the  lips,  as  beautiful  coins, 
newly  issued  from  the  mint ;  deeply  and  accurately  im- 
pressed, perfectly  finished,  neatly  struck  by  the  proper 
organs,  distinct,  in  due  succession,  and  of  due  weight." 
How  rarely  do  we  hear  a  speaker,  whose  tongue,  teeth, 
and  lips,  do  their  office  so  perfectly  as,  in  any  wise,  to 
answer  to  this  beautilul  description  !  And  the  common 
faults  in  articulation,  it  should  be  remembered,  take  their 
rise  from  the  very  nursery.  But  let  us  refer  to  other 
particulars. 

2.  Grace  in  eloquence — in  the  pulpit,  at  the  bar — can 
not  be  separated  from  grace  in  the  ordinary  manners, 
in  private  life,  in  the  social  circle,  in  the  family.  It  can 
not  well  be  superinduced  upon  all  the  other  acquisitions 
of  youth,  any  more  than  that  nameless,  but  invaluable 
quality,  called  good  breeding.  You  may,  therefore,  be- 
gin the  work  of  forming  the  orator  with  your  child  ;  not 
merely  by  teaching  him  to  declaim,  but,  what  is  of  more 
consequence,  by  observing  and  correcting  his  daily 
manners,  motions,  and  attitudes. 

3.  You  can  say,  when  he  comes  into  your  apartment, 
or  presents  you  with  something,  a  book  or  letter,  in  an 
awkward  and  blundering  manner,  "  Return,  and  enter 
this  room  again  ;"  or,  "  Present  me  that  book  in  a  differ- 
ent manner ;"  or,  "  Put  yourself  into  a  different  atti- 
tude." You  can  explain  to  him  the  difference  between 
thrusting  or  pushing  out  his  hand  and  arm  in  straight 
lines  and  at  acute  angles,  and  moving  them  in  flowing, 
circular  lines,  and  easy,  graceful  action.  He  will  readi- 
ly understand  you.  Nothing  is  more  true  than  that 
"  the  motions  of  children  are  originally  graceful ;"  and 
it  is  by  suffering  them  to  be  perverted,  that  we  lay  the 
foundation  for  invincible  awkwardness  in  later  life. 


100         WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER. 

4.  We  go,  next,  to  the  schools  for  children.  It  ought 
to  be  a  leading  object,  in  these  schools,  to  teach  the  art 
of  reading.  It  ought  to  occupy  three-fold  more  time 
than  it  does.  The  teachers  of  these  schools  should 
labor  to  improve  themselves.  They  should  feel,  that  to 
them,  for  a  time,  are  committed  the  future  orators  of 
the  land. 

5.  We  would  rather  have  a  child,  even  of  the  other 
sex,  return  to  us  from  school  a  first-rate  reader,  than  a 
first-rate  performer  on  the  pianoforte.  We  should  feel 
that  we  had  a  far  better  pledge  for  the  intelligence  and 
talent  of  our  child.  The  accomplishment,  in  its  per- 
fection, would  give  more  pleasure.  The  voice  of  song 
is  not  sweeter  than  the  voice  of  eloquence ;  and  there 
may  be  eloquent  readers,  as  well  as  eloquent  speakers. 

6.  We  speak  of  perfection  in  this  art ;  and  it  is  some- 
thing, we  must  say  in  defense  of  our  preference,  which  we 
have  never  yet  seen.  Let  the  same  pains  be  devoted  to 
reading,  as  are  required  to  form  an  accomplished  per- 
former on  an  instrument ;  let  us  have,  as  the  ancients 
had,  the  formers  of  the  voice,  the  music-masters  of  the 
reading  voice  ;  let  us  see  years  devoted  to  this  accom- 
plishment, and  then  we  should  be  prepared  to  stand  the 
comparison. 

7.  It  is,  indeed,  a  most  intellectual  acomplishment. 
So  is  music,  too,  in  its  perfection.  We  do  by  no  means 
undervalue  this  noble  and  most  delightful  art,  to  which 
Socrates  applied  himself,  even  in  his  old  age.  But  one 
recommendation  of  the  art  of  reading  is,  that  it  requires 
a  constant  exercise  of  mind.  It  demands  continual  and 
close  reflection  and  thought;  and  the  finest  discrimina- 
tion of  thought.  It  involves,  in  its  perfection,  the  whole 
art  of  criticism  on  language.  A  man  may  possess  a  fine 
genius,  without  being  a  perfect  reader ;  but  he  can  not 
be  a  perfect  reader  without  genius. 


WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER.         101 


LESSON   XXXVIII. 

the  mother's  influence  in  the  formation  of 
character. 

1.  The  most  grand,  daring,  and  successful  genius  of 
his  age, — a  man  of  giant  intellect,  a  profound  statesman, 
an  unrivaled  negotiator,  and  the  greatest  military  cap- 
tain of  the  world,  Napoleon,  always  ascribed  the  great- 
ness and  glory  of  his  unequaled  career  to  the  lessons 
taught  him  by  his  mother.  So  deeply  graven  on  his 
mind  was  the  truth  of  woman's  pre-eminent  influence  in 
the  formation  of  character,  that  it  was  one  of  the  stand- 
ing maxims  of  his  life,  "  That  there  never  was  an  extra- 
ordinary man  who  was  the  son  of  an  ordinary  mother." 

2.  Many  of  the  master-spirits  of  our  own  country, 
whose  splendid  achievements  have  enrolled  their  names 
high  upon  the  imperishable  records  of  true  glory,  and 
whose  private  and  social  virtues  have  enshrined  them  in 
the  hearts  of  their  fellow  citizens,  were  trained  and  fash- 
ioned by  female  intelligence  and  virtue.  Jackson  and 
Calhoun,  not  to  mention  others,  are  noble  specimens  of 
what  poor,  virtuous,  widowed  mothers  can  achieve. 

3.  The  brightest  and  purest  name  of  our  history,  and 
of  the  world's  history,  which  will  grow  brighter  and 
brighter,  and  become  more  and  more  holy,  as  it  goes 
sparkling  down  to  posterity — our  own  beloved,  immor- 
tal Washington — received  the  elements  of  that  charac- 
ter of  which  we  are  all  so  justly  proud,  from  the  vigilant 
guardianship,  sound  judgment,  and  spotless  virtue  of  his 
widowed  mother. 

4.  To  the  male  youth  of  our  country,  whose  generous 
bosoms  glow  with  ardent  aspirations  for  enduring  fame, 
with  all  the  sincerity  and  energy  that  1  can  command,  I 
would  say,  make  Washington  your  perpetual   model. 


102  WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER. 


And  to  the  fairer  and  lovelier  sex,  would  you  reign  with- 
out rivals  in  our  hearts,  would  you  desire  that  the  great 
and  good  of  the  republic  shall  raise  monuments  to  your 
memory  and  pour  the  warm  tears  of  a  mighty  people's 
gratitude  upon  your  graves,  imitate,  forever  imitate,  the 
virtues  of  "  Mary,  the  mother  of  Washington." 

Jas.  Henry,  jx. 


LESSON  XXXIX. 

THE    TOLL-GATE. 

1.  We  are  all  on  a  journey.  The  world  through  which 
we  are  passing  is  in  some  respects  like  a  turnpike,  all 
along  which  Vice  and  Folly  have  erected  toll-gates  for 
the  accommodation  of  those  who  choose  to  call  as  they 
go  ;  and  there  are  very  few  of  all  the  host  of  travelers 
who  do  not  occasionally  stop  a  little  at  some  one  or 
another  of  them,  and,  consequently,  pay  more  or  less  to 
the  toll-gatherers  ; — pay  more  or  less,  I  say,  because 
there  is  a  great  variety  as  well  in  the  amount  as  in  the 
kind  of  toll  exacted  at  these  different  stopping-places. 

2.  Pride  and  Fashion  take  heavy  tolls  of  the  purse. 
Many  a  man  has  become  a  beggar  by  paying  at  their 
gates.  The  ordinary  rates  they  charge  are  heavy,  and 
the  road  that  way  is  none  of  the  best.  Pleasure  oilers 
a  very  smooth,  delightful  road  in  the  outset.  She  tempts 
the  traveler  with  many  fair  promises,  and  wins  thou- 
sands:  but  she  takes  without  mercy.  Like  an  artful 
robber,  she  allures  till  she  gets  her  victim  in  her  power, 
and  then  strips  him  of  health  and  money,  and  turns  him 
off,  a  miserable  object,  into  the  very  worst  and  most 
rugged  road  of  life. 

3.  Intemperance  plays  the  part  of  a  sturdy  villain. 
He  is  the  very  worst  toll-gatherer  on  the  road,  for  he 


WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER.         103 

not  only  gets  from  his  customers  their  money  and  their 
health,  but  he  robs  them  of  their  very  brains.  The  men 
you  meet  in  the  road,  ragged  and  ruined  in  fame  and 
fortune,  are  his  visitors. 

4.  And  so  I  might  go  on,  enumerating  many  others, 
who  gather  toll  of  the  unwary.  Accidents  sometimes 
happen,  it  is  true,  along  the  road  ;  but  those  who  do  not 
get  through  at  least  tolerably  well,  you  may  be  sure  have 
been  stopping  by  the  way  at  some  of  those  places.  The 
plain,  common  sense  men,  who  travel  straight  forward, 
get  through  the  journey  without  much  difficulty. 

5.  This  being  the  state  of  things,  it  becomes  every  one 
in  the  outset,  if  he  intends  to  make  a  comfortable  jour- 
ney, to  look  well  to  his  company.  We  are  all  very  apt 
to  imitate  our  companions — to  stop  where  they  stop, 
and  pay  toll  where  they  pay  toll.  Ten  chances  to  one, 
our  choice  in  this  particular  decides  our  fate. 

6.  Having  paid  due  regard  to  a  prudent  choice  of 
companions,  the  next  important  thing  is,  closely  to  ob- 
serve how  others  manage — to  mark  the  good  or  ill  that  is 
produced  by  every  course  of  life — to  see  how  those 
manage  who  do  well,  and  trace  the  cause  of  evil  to  its 
origin  in  conduct.  Thus  you  will  make  yourself  master 
of  the  information  necessary  to  regulate  your  own  de- 
portment. 

7.  Be  careful  of  your  habits.  These  make  the  man. 
And  they  require  long  and  careful  culture  ere  they  grow 
to  be  a  second  nature.  Good  habits  I  speak  of.  Bad 
or  ^8  are  more  easily  acquired — they  are  the  spontaneous 
w  >eds  that  flourish  rapidly  and  rankly  without  care  or 
r   Kure. 


104  WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER. 


LESSON  XL. 

LIGHT    WORDS. 

1.  This  is  often  said  to  be  a  world  of  cold  neglect  and 
scorn  :  and  so  it  is.  But,  reader,  while  you  have  called 
it  so,  have  you  ever  thought  that  you  are  one  of  such  a 
world  ?  that  from  you,  perhaps,  are  often  heard  words 
so  cold  and  unkind,  that,  like  the  torpedo,  they  benumb 
all  within  their  reach  ?  Perhaps  you  did  not  mean  to 
wound  a  friend,  or  make  this  life  to  him  more  lonely. 
Then  you  should  have  withdrawn  that  last  "  light  word." 

"  Tis  over  soon,  the  cause ;  not  soon 
The  sad  effects  pass  by." 

2.  Have  you  ever  seen  a  gay,  lively  spirit  and  light 
heart  turned  to  sadness  and  deep  melancholy  ?  It  might 
have  been  the  effect  of  a  single  word.  Have  you  seen 
the  tear  of  the  mourner  starting  afresh  ?  It  was  a  light 
word  that  vividly  recalled  the  past.  Have  you  never 
seen  the  poor  of  this  world  made  to  feel  more  keenly 
than  ever  (and  Heaven  knows  it  is  sharp  enough  at  any 
time)  the  sense  of  destitution  ?  It  was  only  a  light 
word.     Be  mindful,  then — 

"  Ye  little  know  what  misery 
From  idle  words  may  spring." 

3.  But  what  are  idle  words?  We  watch  the  lips  of 
the  young  and  aged,  of  the  wise  and  ignorant,  of  the 
thoughtful  and  giddy,  and  we  hear  the  audible  expression 
of  careless  hearts  ;  but  certainly  these  can  not  be  "  light 
words,"  for  all  have  their  effect — deep,  serious,  and  last- 
ing. Light  words  !  The  very  name  is  a  mockery — a 
burden  to  the  heart ;  for  however  lightly  they  may  fall 
from  the  lips,  heavily  do  they  often  rest  on  the  spirit. 


WEBB'S  rOXJETH  EEADER.  105 


LESSON  XLI. 

THE    CROWN    OF    THE    HAT. 

"  The  modish  hat,  whose  breadth  contains 
The  measure  of  its  owner's  brains/' 

1.  As  the  poet  advises,  I  oft  study  man, 

And  have  noted  each  trait  that  his  nature  displays, 
And  though  I  must  leave  him  where  first  I  began, 

(Since  truly  but  little  is  known  of  his  ways,) 
For  the  good  of  mankind  I'll  record  what  I've  seen, 

With  the  sage-like  conclusions  to  which  I  have  come  ; 
Nor  let  any  doubt  me — I  speak  what  I  mean — 

And  of  all  my  observings  give  this  as  the  sum : 
The  main  source  of  error,  when  justly  come  at, 

Will  always  be  found  in  the  "  crown  of  the  hat !" 

2.  The  world  was  made  rightly,  and,  well  understood, 

Will  be  found  in  all  parts  to  fill  its  design  ; 
And  we,  like  its  Maker,  should  still  call  it  "  good," 

Though  all  its  dark  phases  we  may  not  define. 
And  if,  like  the  earth,  man  would  keep  in  his  sphere, 

He  would  ne'er  have  occasion  at  fortune  to  fret ; 
For  e'en  should  his  eye  be  suffused  with  a  tear, 

'Tis  a  gem  dropped  from  heaven  that  brings  no  regret : 
Whoe'er,  then,  is  fretting  with  this  or  with  that, 

Must  have  something  wrong  in  the  "  crown  of  his  hat  I" 

5.  The  modern  reformer,  self-righteous  and  wise, 

Who  deems  that  the  world  was  ne'er  blessed  with  the 
light 
Till  he  on  its  darkness  was  seen  to  arise, 

Like  the  sunbeams  of  morning  dispelling  the  night, — 
With  clamor  denounees  each  system  and  creed, 
As  vile  impositions  wherewith  to  deceive  ; 


106      webb's  fourth  reader. 

But  proclaims  to  the  world  that  his  own  they"  must  heed, 
And  thunders  at  any  who  dares  disbelieve : 

Now,  the  poor  silly  wight  is  as  blind  as  a  bat, 

For  all  has  gone  wrong  in  the  "  crown  of  his  hat !" 

4.  The  votary  of  fashion  believes  the  Creator, 

When  He  first  made  the  sex  from  the  rib  of  the  man, 
Had  no  standard  of  beauty  by  which  He  could  rate  her ; 

So  she  tries  to  improve  His  original  plan. 
The  waist  is  too  large,  and  the  hips  are  too  small — 

These  she  shapes  with  a  bustle,  and  that  with  a  lace ; 
And  finding  a  fault  in  the  chief  point  of  all, 

Disfigures  with  rouge  the  divine  human  face  ! 
Now,  if  the  poor  ninny  was  not  such  a  flat, 

She'd  find  her  defects  in  the  "  crown  of  her  hat !" 

5.  And  thus  every  failure,  and  folly,  and  strife, 

That  bothers  us  here,  has  its  origin  thence ; 
So  that  he  who  is  donning  a  beaver  for  life, 

Should  be  sure,  at  the  start,  to  well  stock  it  with  sense. 
But  some,  I've  no  doubt,  are  quite  ready  to  say, 

That  the  poet  belongs  to  the  class  he  describes, 
And  his  own  imperfections  should  closely  survey, 

When  others  he  dares  to  assail  with  his  gibes : 
Well,  he  in  all  frankness  acknowledges,  pat, 

That  there  is  something  wrong  in  the  "  cro^ra  of  his  hat !' 

Sidney  Dyer. 


MO'  dish,  fashionable. 
4.  Rouge  (roozh),  a  red  paint  for  the  face.     Nin'  ny,  a  silly  person. 
6.  Don'  ning,  putting  on.     Gibes,  reproaches. 


WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER.         107 


LESSON  XLII. 

THE     PLEASURE-BOAT. 

1.  Travelers  tell  us  of  a  terrific  whirlpool  in  the  sea, 
a  few  leagues  from  the  western  shore  of  the  kingdom  of 
Norway,  called  Maelstrom.  The  water  near  it  is  kept 
in  the  most  fearful  commotion. 

2.  Ships,  when  they  are  unfortunately  drawn  into  it, 
are  quickly  dashed  to  pieces  and  disappear.  Even  the 
whale  is  sometimes  overcome  by  the  force  of  the  cur- 
rents, and  with  loud  bellowings  of  distress  and  alarm,  is 
carried  into  the  vortex  of  the  whirlpool,  from  which  it 
never  issues  alive. 

3.  On  the  shore  nearly  opposite  to  this  dreadful  place, 
one  fine  day  in  the  month  of  July,  a  party  of  young 
gentlemen  and  ladies  were  walking  for  pleasure.  A 
proposition  was  made  to  embark  for  an  excursion  upon 
the  water,  and  some  of  the  party  stepped  into  a  boat 
lying  by  the  shore. 

4.  None  of  them  were  accustomed  to  the  dangers  of 
the  sea.  The  young  men  could  not  ply  the  oars  as  dex- 
trously  as  those  can  who  are  practiced  in  the  labor. 
They  supposed  there  could  be  no  danger.  The  sea  was 
so  calm,  the  day  so  pleasant,  and  the  winds  breathed  so 
softly,  they  felt  all  was  safe. 

5.  They  embarked,  and  the  boat  was  soon  in  motion, 
propelled  rapidly  by  the  oars.  The  young  men,  fa- 
tigued with  the  exertion,  ceased  rowing,  and  were 
pleased  to  find  that  the  boat  continued  to  glide  smoothly 
yet  swiftly  along. 

6.  They  saw  and  apprehended  no  danger.  All  was 
lively  joy  and  innocent  hilarity.  They  knew  not  that 
they  were  within  the  influence  of  the  whirlpool,  and 


108  WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER. 

passing  rapidly  around  its  outermost  circle,  and  that 
they  were  drawing  insensibly  nearer  to  a  point  whence 
there  could  be  no  escape. 

7.  They  came  round  nearly  to  the  place  whence  they 
had  embarked.  At  this  critical  moment,  the  only  one 
in  which  it  was  possible  for  them  to  escape,  a  number 
of  persons  on  the  shore  perceived  the  danger  of  the  un- 
happy party,  and  gave  the  alarm.  They  entreated 
those  in  the  boat  to  make  at  least  one  desperate  effort, 
and  if  possible  reach  the  shore. 

8.  They  entreated  in  vain.  The  party  in  the  boat 
laughed  at  the  fears  of  their  friends,  and  suffered  them- 
selves to  glide  onward,  without  making  one  exertion  for 
deliverance  from  the  impending  destruction.  They 
passed  around  the  second  circle,  and  again  appeared  to 
their  terrified  friends  on  shore. 

9.  Expostulation  and  entreaty  were  redoubled,  but  in 
vain.  To  launch  another  boat  would  only  bring  sure 
destruction  to  those  who  might  embark.  If  any  of  the 
party  were  saved,  their  own  efforts  could  alone  accom- 
plish the  work. 

10.  But  they  continued  their  merriment ;  and,  now 
and  then,  peals  of  laughter  would  oome  over  the  waters, 
sounding  like  the  knell  of  death  upon  the  ears  of  all  who 
heard  ;  for  they  well  knew  that  now  there  was  no  relief, 
and  that  soon  the  thoughtless  revelers  would  see  their 
folly  and  madness,  and  awake  to  their  danger  only  to 
find  that  they  could  not  avoid  ruin  and  death. 

11.  Again  they  came  round;  but  their  mirth  was 
terminated.  They  had  heard  the  roarings  of  the  whirl- 
pool, and  had  seen  in  the  distance  the  wild  tumult  of  the 
waters,  and  they  knew  that  death  was  near.  The  boat 
began  to  quiver  like  an  aspen  leaf,  and  to  shoot  like 
lightning  from  wave  to  wave. 

12    The  foam  dashed  over  them  as  they  sped  along, 


WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER.         109 

and  every  moment  they  expected  to  be  ingulfed.  They 
now  plied  the  oars  and  cried  for  help.  No  help  could 
reach  them.  No  strength  could  give  the  boat  power  to 
escape  from  the  vortex  toward  which  it  was  hastening. 

13.  A  thick,  black  cloud,  as  if  to  add  horror  to  the 
scene,  at  this  moment  shrouded  the  heavens  in  dark- 
ness, and  the  thunder  rolled  fearfully  over  their  heads. 
With  a  desperate  struggle  the  oars  were  again  plied. 
They  snapped  asunder,  and  their  last  hope  gave  way  to 
the  agony  of  despair.  The  boat,  now  trembling,  now 
tossed,  now  whirled  suddenly  around,  plunged  into  the 
yawning  abyss,  and,  with  the  unhappy  persons  which  it 
carried,  disappeared  forever. 

14.  Thus  perished  the  pleasure-boat  and  all  who  had 
embarked  in  it.  And  thus  perish  thousands  in  the  whirl- 
pool of  dissipation,  who  at  first  sailed  smoothly  and 
thoughtlessly  around  its  outmost  circle,  and  laughed  at 
those  who  saw  and  faithfully  warned  them  of  their  dan- 
ger. But,  rejecting  all  admonition,  and  closing  their 
ears  to  all  entreaties,  they  continued  on  their  course 
till  escape  was  hopeless,  and  ruin  inevitable. 

15.  Let  every  youth  remember  that  the  real  danger 
lies  in  entering  the  first  circle.  Had  not  the  pleasure- 
boat  entered  that,  that  unhappy  party  had  never  been 
dashed  to  pieces  in  the  vortex  of  the  whirlpool.  Pleas- 
ure may,  indeed,  beckon  on,  and  cry,  There  is  no  dan- 
ger ;  but  believe  her  not. 

16.  The  waves  and  rocks  of  ruin  are  in  her  path ; 
and  to  avoid  them  may  not  be  in  your  power,  if  one 
step  be  taken.  Many  a  man,  who  commenced  with  a 
glass  of  spirit,  relying  upon  his  strength  of  mind  and 
firmness  of  purpose,  has  passed  around  the  whole  circle 
of  drunkenness,  and  lain  down  in  a  dishonored  grave. 


10 


110         WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER. 


LESSON  XLIII. 

BEWARE  OF  BAD  BOOKS. 

1.  Why,  what  harm  will  books  do  me?  The  same 
harm  that  personal  intercourse  would,  with  the  bad  men 
who  wrote  them.  That  "  a  man  is  known  by  the  com- 
pany he  keeps,"  is  an  old  prorerb ;  but  it  is  no  more 
true  than  that  a  man's  character  may  be  determined  by 
knowing  what  books  he  reads.  If  a  good  book  can  be 
read  without  making  one  better,  a  bad  book  can  not  be 
read  without  making  one  the  worse. 

2.  Bad  books  are  like  ardent  spirits ;  they  furnish 
neither  "aliment"  nor  "medicine:"  they  are  "poison." 
Both  intoxicate — one  the  mind,  the  other  the  body ;  the 
thirst  for  each  increases  by  being  fed,  and  is  never  satis- 
fied ;  both  ruin — one  the  intellect,  the  other  the  health, 
and  together,  the  soul.  The  makers  and  venders  of 
each  are  equally  guilty  and  equally  corrupters  of  the 
community ;  and  the  safeguard  against  each  is  the 
same — total  abstinence  from  all  that  intoxicates  mind  or 
body. 

3.  Whatever  books  neither  feed  the  mind  nor  the 
heart,  but  have  the  effect  to  intoxicate  the  mind  and 
corrupt  the  heart,  are  "bad  books."  Works  of  science, 
art,  philosophy,  history,  theology,  &c,  furnish  "  aliment" 
or  "medicine:"  books  of  mere  fancy,  romance,  infidelity, 
war,  piracy,  and  murder,  are  "poison,"  more  or  less 
diluted,  ani  are  as  much  to  be  shunned  as  the  drunk- 
ard's cup.  They  will  "  bite  like  a  serpent,  and  sting 
like  an  adder." 

4.  Books  of  mere  fiction  insult  the  understanding. 
They  represent  as  truth  what  is  confessedly  false,  and 
assume  that  the  great  object  of  reading  is  amusement 


WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER.         Ill 

instead  of  instruction.  The  effects  are  such  as  might 
be  expected.  A  habit  of  reading  for  amusement  simply, 
becomes  so  fixed,  that  science  loses  all  its  charms;  sober 
history  becomes  dull  and  tedious,  and  whatever  requires 
thought  and  study  is  cast  aside. 

5.  Beware  of  books  of  war,  jriracy,  and  murder.  The 
first  thought  of  crime  has  been  suggested  by  such  books. 
The  murderer  of  Lord  William  Russell  confessed  on 
the  scaffold,  that  the  reading  of  one  such  book  led  him 
to  the  commission  of  his  crime.  Another,  who  was 
executed  for  piracy,  was  instigated  to  his  course  by  a 
book  filled  with  piratical  tales.  The  state  prisons  are 
filled  with  criminals  who  were  incited  to  crime  by  similar 
means.  They  stimulate  the  love  of  adventurous  daring, 
cultivate  the  baser  passions,  and  prompt  to  deeds  of  in- 
famy.    Away  with  them — beware  of  them ! 

6.  Do  you  still  need  to  be  persuaded  to  beware  of  the 
poison  that  would  paralyze  your  conscience,  enervate 
your  intellect,  pervert  your  judgment,  deprave  your  life, 
and  perhaps  ruin  your  soul  ?  Beware  of  bad  books, 
because  if  you,  and  others  like  you,  will  let  them  alone, 
they  will  soon  cease  to  be  published.  Every  such  book 
you  buy  encourages  the  guilty  publisher  to  make  an- 
other. Thus  you  not  only  endanger  your  own  morals, 
but  pay  a  premium  on  the  means  of  ruining  others. 

7.  Beware  of  bad  books,  because  your  example  is 
contagious.  Good  books  are  plenty  and  cheap,  and  it 
is  folly  to  feed  on  chaff,  or  poison,  when  substantial, 
healthful  food  may  as  well  be  obtained.  Beware  of  bad 
books,  because  they  waste  your  time.  "  Time  is  money" 
— it  is  more — it  is  eternity !  Can  you  squander  it  on  the 
means  of  ruin ! 

8.  Beware  of  bad  books,  because  principles  imbibed 
and  images  gathered  from  them,  will  abide  in  the 
memory    and   imagination   forever.      The   mind   once 


112         WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER. 

polluted  is  never  freed  from  its  corruption — never.  1  t 
your  pledge  be — "  Henceforth  I  will  beware  of  bad  boo.^s, 
and  never  read  what  can  intoxicate  and  deprave  l\<: 
mind  and  heart." 


LESSON   XLIV. 

THE    SISTERS. 

First  Speaker. 

1.  I  go,  sweet  sister !  yet  ray  love  would  linger  with  thee  fain, 
And  unto  every  parting  gift  some  deep  remembrance  chain  ; 
Take,  then,  the  braid  of  eastern  pearl,  that  once  I  loved  to 

wear, 
And  with  it  bind,  for  festal  scenes,  the  dark  waves  of  thy 

hair ; 
Its  pale,  pure  brightness  will  beseem  those  raven  tresses 

well, 
And  I  shall  need  such  pomp  no  more  in  the  lone  convent 

cell. 

Second  Speaker. 

2.  Oh !  sister,  sister !  wherefore  thus  ? — why  part  from  kindred 

love? 
Through  festal  scenes,  when  thou  art  gone,  my  steps  no 

more  shall  move. 
How  could  I  bear  a  lonely  heart  amidst  a  reckless  throng  ? 
I  should  but  miss  earth's  dearest  voice  in  every  tone  of 

song ! 
Keep,  keep  the  braid  of  eastern  pearl !  or  let  me  proudly 

twine 
Its  wreath  once  more  around  that  brow,  that  queenly  brow 

of  thine ! 


WEBB'S  FOUKTH  READEK.         113 


First  Speaker. 

3.  Oh !  wouldst  thou  seek  a  wounded  bird  from  shelter  to 

detain  ? 
Or  wouldst  thou  call  a  spirit  freed  to  weary  life  again  ? 
Sweet  sister !  take  the  golden  cross  that  I  have  worn  so 

long, 
And  bathed  with  many  a  burning  tear,  for  secret  woe  and 

wrong  ! 
It  could  not  still  my  beating  heart — but  may  it  be  a  sign 
Of  peace  and  hope,  my  gentle  one  !  when  meekly  pressed 

to  thine ! 

Second  Speaker. 

4,  Take  back,  take  back,  the  cross  of  gold,  our  mother's  gift 

to  thee : 

It  would  but  of  this  parting  hour  a  bitter  token  be ! 

With  funeral  splendor  to  mine  eyes  it  would  but  sadly 
shine, 

And  tell  of  early  treasure  lost,  of  joy  no  longer  mine  ! 

Oh,  sister !  if  thy  heart  be  thus  with  voiceless  grief  op- 
pressed, 

Where  couldst  thou  pour  it  forth  so  well  as  on  my  faithful 
breast  ? 

First  Speaker. 

5    Urge  me  no  more !  a  blight  hath  fallen  upon  my  altered 

years ; 
I  should  but  darken  thy  young  life  with  sleepless  pangs 

and  fears  ! 
But  take,  at  least,  the  lute  I  loved,  and  guard  it  for  my 

sake, 
And  sometimes  from  the  silvery  strings  one  tone  of  memory 

wake! 
Sing  to  those  chords,  in  starlight  hours,  our  own  sweet 

vesper-hymn, 
And  think  that  I,  too,  chant  it  then,  far  in  my  cloister  dim ! 

10* 


114 


WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER. 


Second  Speaker. 

6.  Yes !  I  will  take  the  silvery  lute,  and  I  will  sing  to  thee 
A  song  we  heard  in  childhood's  days,  e'en  from  our  father's 

knee ! 
Oh  !  listen,  listen !  are  those  notes  amidst  forgotten  things  ? 
Do  they  not  linger,  as  in  love,  on  the  familiar  strings  ? 
Seems  not  our  sainted  mother's  voice  to  murmur  in  the 

strain  ? 
Kind  sister !  gentlest  Leonore  !  say,  shall  it  plead  in  vain  ? 

SONG. 

L  E  A  V  K     U  S     N  O  T.  J.  R.  W. 


f3=zs:^Hzd^: 


Leave  ua  not,  leave  us  not!  Say  not  a-dieu  !       Have  we  not  been  to  thee 
Chorus. 


mmmmm&m 


Ten-der   and  true ?  Leave  ua   not,  leave    us    not!     Say     not      a-dieu! 

1.  Leave  us  not,  leave  us  not ! 
Say  not,  adieu ! 
Have  we  not  been  to  thee 
Tender  and  true  ? 


2.  Take  not  thy  sunny  smile 
Far  from  our  hearth  ! 
With  that  sweet  light  will  fade 


Summer  and  mirth. 


3.  Leave  us  not,  leave  us  not ! 
Can  thy  heart  roam  ? 
Wilt  thou  not  pine  to  hear 
Voices  from  home  ? 


WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER.         115 

4.  Too  sad  our  love  would  be, 
If  thou  wast  gone  ! 
Turn  to  us !  leave  us  not ! 
Thou  art  our  own ! 

First  Speaker. 

7.  0,  sister !  thou  hast  won  me  back  !  too  many  fond  thoughts 

lie 
In  every  soft  spring  breathing  tone  of  that  old  melody : 
I  can  not,  can  not  leave  thee  now !  e'en  though  my  grief 

should  fall 
As  a  shadow  on  the  pageantries  that  crowd  our  ancient 

hall; 
But  take  me  !  clasp  me  in  thine  arms  ! — I  will  not  mourn 

my  lot, 
Whilst  love  like  thine  remains  on  earth — I  leave,  I  leave 

theenot!  F.Hemans. 


LESSON  XLV. 

ANIMALS. 

1.  Animals  are- divided  into  four  great  branches,  dis- 
tinguished by  the  terms  Vertebrated,  Molluscous,  Ar- 
ticulated, and  Radiated. 

2.  The  first  division  includes  all  those  animals 
which  are  provided  with  a  backbone ;  and  because  the 
similar  bones,  or  joints,  of  which  it  is  composed,  are 
called  by  anatomists  vertebra  (from  a  Latin  word  sig- 
nifying to  turn)-,  the  individuals  that  belong  to  this  di- 
vision are  called  Vertebrated  Animals. 

3.  It  is  subdivided  into  four  classes:  1.  Mammalia; 
comprehending  man,  land  quadrupeds,  and  tiie  whale 


■ —  I  -  — 

116         WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER. 

tribe ;  that  is,  all  animals  that  give  suck  to  their  young  : 

2.  Birds  of  all  kinds  :  3.  Rej) tiles ;  of  which  are  frogs, 
serpents,  lizards,  crocodiles,  alligators,  tortoises,  and 
turtles :  4.  Fishes  of  all  kinds,  except  the  whale  tribe ; 
which  belongs  to  the  class  mammalia. 

4.  The  second  division  includes  tribes  of  animals 
which  have  no  bones  ;  and  because  their  bodies  contain 
no  hard  parts,  they  are  called  Molluscous  Animals,  from 
a  Latin  word  signifying  soft.  With  a  few  exceptions, 
they  all  have  a  hard  covering  or  shell,  to  which  they 
are  either  attached,  or  in  which  they  can  inclose  them- 
selves, and  be  preserved  from  injuries,  to  which,  from 
their  soft  nature,  they  would  otherwise  be  constantly 
exposed. 

5.  Apart  from  the  few  exceptions  referred  to,  Mollus- 
cous Animals  are  divisible  into,  1.  Univalves;  that  is, 
animals  armed  with  a  shell,  or  valve,  forming  one  con- 
tinuous piece;  such  as  snails:  2.  Bivalves;  or  those 
having  two  shells  united  by  a  hinge ;  such  as  oysters : 

3.  Multivalves ;  or  those  having  more  than  two  shells ; 
of  which  the  common  barnacle  is  an  example. 

6.  The  third  division  is  assigned  to  what  are  called 
Articulated  Animals :  these  having  a  peculiar  struc- 
ture called  articulations,  from  articulus,  Latin  for  a 
little  joint.  It  is  subdivided  into  four  classes:  1.  Anne- 
lides,  or  those  having  a  ringed  structure,  from  annulus, 
Latin  for  ring ;  leeches  and  earthworms  are  examples  : 
2.  Crustacea ;  or  those  which  have  their  soft  bodies 
and  limbs  protected  by  a  hard  coating  or  crust;  which 
in  common  language  we  call  shell  also;  such  as  lob- 
sters, crabs,  and  prawns :  3.  Spiders  ;  which  form  a 
class  by  themselves :  4.  Insects ;  such  as  flies,  beetles, 
bees,  and  butterflies. 

7.  The  fourth  division  comprehends  a  great  variety 
of  animals  which   have  a  structure  like  an  assemblage 


WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER.  117 

of  rays  diverging  from  a  common  point  like  the  spokes 
of  a  carriage  wheel ;  and  on  this  account  they  are 
called  Radiated  Animals,  from  radius,  the  Latin  for 
ray.  It  contains  five  classes  ;  but  as  three  of  these  are 
animals  without  hard  parts,  we  may  pass  them  by. 

8.  Of  the  remaining  two,  one  contains  the  echini,  or 
sea-urchins ;  the  other,  the  very  numerous  tribe  called 
zo  op  kites ;  from  two  Greek  words  signifying  animal 
and  plant ;  because  the  animal  is  fixed  to  the  ground, 
and  builds  its  strong  habitation  in  the  form  of  a  shrub, 
or  branch,  or  leafy  plant.  Corals  and  sponges  belong 
to  this  class ;  and  among  all  the  different  animal  re- 
mains that  are  found,  there  is  no  class  which  bears  any 
proportion  in  point  either  of  frequency  of  occurrence, 
or  in  quantity,  to  this  last. 


LESSON  XLYI. 

CONSCIENTIOUSNESS. 

The  following  is  a  beautiful  illustration  of  conscien- 
tiousness, fully  developed,  and,  of  the  old  adage,  that 
honesty  is  the  best  policy.  How  simply  and  beautifully 
has  Abd-el-Kadir,  of  Ghilon,  impressed  us  with  the  love 
of  truth  in  a  story  of  his  childhood.  After  stating  the 
vision  which  made  him  entreat  of  his  mother  to  go  to 
Bagdad,  and  devote  himself  to  God,  he  thus  proceeds  : — 

I  informed  her  of  what  I  had  seen,  and  she  wept ; 
then,  taking  out  eighty  dinars,  she  told  me  I  had  a 
brother,  and  half  of  that  was  my  inheritance  ;  she  made 
me  swear,  when  she  gave  it  to  me,  never  to  tell  a  liey 
and  afterward  bade  me  farewell,  exclaiming — "  Go,  my 


118      webb's  fourth  reader. 

son,  I  consign  thee  to  God :  we  shall  not  meet  until  the 
day  of  Judgment." 

I  went  on  till  I  came  near  Hamandnai,  when  our 
Kafillah  was  plundered  by  sixty  horsemen.  One  fellow 
asked  me  wftat  I  had.  "  Forty  dinars,"  said  I,  "  are 
sewed  under  my  garments."  The  fellow  laughed,  think- 
ing, no  doubt,  I  was  joking  with  him. — "  What  have 
you  ?"  said  another :  I  gave  him  the  same  answer. 
When  they  were  dividing  the  spoils,  I  was  called  to  an 
eminence  where  the  chief  stood. 

"What  property  have  you,  my  little  fellow?"  said 
he. 

"  I  have  told  two  of  your  people  already,"  I  replied ; 
"  I  have  forty  dinars,  sewed  in  my  garments." 

He  ordered  them  to  be  ripped  open,  and  found  the 
money. 

"And  how  came  you,"  said  he,  in  surprise,  " to  de- 
clare so  openly  what  had  been  so  carefully  concealed  ?" 

"  Because,"  I  replied,  "  I  will  not  be  false  to  my 
mother,  to  whom  I  have  promised  /  never  will  tell  a 
lie  /" 

"  Child,"  said  the  robber,  "  hast  thou  such  a  sense  of 
duty  to  thy  mother  at  thy  years,  and  am  I  insensible  at 
my  age,  of  the  duty  I  owe  to  my  God  ?  Give  me  thy 
hand,  innocent  boy,"  he  continued,  "that  I  may  swear 
repentance  upon  it."  He  did  so.  His  followers  were 
alike  struck  with  the  scene. 

"  You  have  been  our  leader  in  guilt,"  said  they  to 
their  chief;  "be  the  same  in  the  path  of  virtue."  And 
they  instantly,  at  his  order,  made  restitution  of  their 
spoil,  and  vowed  repentance  on  his  hand. 


WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER.         119 


LESSON  XLVII. 

ALL  IS  WELL. 

1.  When  the  hum  of  business  has  ceased  in  a  popu- 
lous city ;  when  fainter  and  still  more  faint  grow  the 
laugh  and  the  revelry,  and  the  heavy  tread  of  the  strag- 
gler upon  the  stone  pavement  has  a  solitary  and  un- 
earthly sound;  when  hushed  is  every  murmur,  and 
midnight  broods  over  the  palace  and  the  hut,  who,  in 
that  still  moment,  when  from  turret  and  from  tower 
peals  the  passing  hour,  has  not  beea  startled  by  the  cry 
of  "  All  is  well !"  from  the  guardian  watchman  of  the 
night,  and  been  soothed  and  calmed  by  the  magic  of  the 
sound  ? 

2.  But  all  is  not  well.  All  is  not  well  with  the  young 
mother  as  she  leans  over  the  fevered  couch,  and  wipes 
the  death-damp  from  the  marble  brow  of  her  only  child  : 
nor  with  the  votary  of  pleasure  as  he  prays  for  the 
dawning  of  light,  hoping  to  assuage  the  pain  caused  by 
the  intoxicating  cup :  nor  with  the  oppressor  of  the 
widow  and  orphan,  as  he  remembers  the  agonizing  sup- 
plications of  his  victims. 

3.  All  is  not  well  with  the  statesman,  as  he  beholds 
the  scepter  of  power  and  glory  passing  away  forever : 
nor  with  the  gambler  in  the  gorgeous  saloon,  as,  deeply 
quaffing  spiced  wines,  he  seizes  with  gaunt  and  jew- 
eled hand  the  dice-box,  and  dashes  aside  the  pleasures 
of  home.  Nor  is  all  well  with  his  miserable  broken- 
hearted wife,  who  has  so  fondly  clung  to  him,  and  who 
will  cling  to  him  to  the  last. 

4.  To  all  these,  that  cry  sounds  like  a  funeral  knell, 
and  will  bring  neither  hope  nor  consolation  when  the 
last  hour  of  man  has  been  numbered,  and  his  life  flick- 


120  WEBB'S  FOURTII  READER. 

ers  in  the  socket.  Happy  the  person  who  at  that  mo- 
ment can  look  calmly  back  to  the  past,  and,  putting 
that  question  to  his  soul,  hear  the  gladdening,  the  heart- 
cheering  response  from  the  unerring  monitor  within, 

ALL  IS   WELL. 


LESSON  XLVIII. 

AUCTION   EXTRAORDINARY. 
Written  by  Miss  Davidson  in  ker  sixteenth  year. 

1.  I  dreamed  a  dream  in  the  midst  of  my  slumbers, 
And  as  fast  as  I  dreamed  it,  it  came  into  numbers ; 
My  thoughts  ran  along  in  such  beautiful  meter, 
I'm  sure  I  ne'er  saw  any  poetry  sweeter ;  , 

It  seemed  that  a  law  had  been  recently  made 
That  a  tax  on  old  bachelors'  pates  should  be  laid ; 
And  in  order  to  make  them  all  willing  to  marry, 
The  tax  was  as  large  as  a  man  could  well  carry. 

2.  The  bachelors  grumbled  and  said  'twas  no  use, 
'Twas  horrid  injustice  and  horrid  abuse, 

And  declared,  that  to  save  their  own  hearts'  blood  from 

spilling, 
Of  such  a  vile  tax  they  would  not  pay  a  shilling. 
But  the  rulers  determined  them  still  to  pursue, 
So  they  set  the  old  bachelors  up  at  vendue. 

8.    A  crier  was  sent  through  the  town  to  and  fro, 
To  rattle  his  bell  and  his  trumpet  to  blow, 
And  to  call  out  to  all  he  might  meet  in  his  way, 
"  Ho !  forty  old  bachelors  sold  here  to-day  I 
And  presently  all  the  old  maids  in  the  town, 
Each  in  her  very  best  bonnet  and  gown, 


WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER.  121 

From  thirty  to  sixty,  fair,  plain,  red,  and  pale, 
Of  every  description,  all  flocked  to  the  sale. 

i.    The  auctioneer  then  in  his  labor  began, 
And  called  out  aloud,  as  he  held  up  a  man, 
"  How  much  for  a  bachelor  ?  who  wants  to  buy  ?" 
In  a  twink  every  maiden  responded,  "  I !  1 1" 
In  short,  at  a  highly  extravagant  price, 
The  bachelors  all  sold  off  in  a  trice ; 
And  forty  old  maidens,  some  younger,  some  older, 
Each  lugged  an  old  bachelor  home  on  her  shoulder. 


LESSON  XLIX. 

LEAVING  HOME. 

1.  The  lapse  of  years  brought  around  the  time  when 
James  was  to  go  away  from  home.  He  was  to  leave 
the  roof  of  a  pious  father  to  go  out  into  the  wide  world 
to  meet  its  temptations  and  to  contend  with  its  storms : 
his  heart  was  oppressed  with  the  many  emotions,  which 
were  struggling  there. 

2.  The  day  had  come  in  which  he  was  to  leave  the 
fireside  of  so  many  enjoyments  ;  the  friends  endeared  to 
him  by  so  many  associations — so  many  acts  of  kindness. 
He  was  to  bid  adieu  to  his  mother,  that  loved  benefactor, 
who  had  protected  him  in  sickness,  and  rejoiced  with 
him  in  health. 

3.  He  was  to  leave  a  father's  protection,  to  go  forth 
and  act  without  an  adviser,  and  rely  upon  his  own  un- 
aided judgment.  He  was  to  bid  farewell  to  brothers 
and  sisters ;  no  more  to  see  them,  but  as  an  occasional 
visitor,  at  his  paternal  home.  O,  how  cold  and  desolate 
did  the  wide  world  appear !     How  did  his  heart  shrink 

ii  = 


122  WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER. 

from   launching   forth   to   meet   its    tempests   and   its 
storms ! 

4.  But  the  hour  had  come  for  him  to  go,  and  he  must 
suppress  his  emotions,  and  triumph  over  his  reluctance. 
He  went  from  room  to  room,  looking,  as  for  the  last 
time,  upon  those  scenes,  to  which  imagination  would  so 
often  recur,  and  where  it  would  love  to  linger.  The 
well-packed  trunk  was  in  the  entry,  awaiting  the  arrival 
of  the  stage.  Brothers  and  sisters  were  moving  about, 
hardly  knowing  whether  to  smile  or  to  cry. 

5.  The  father  sat  at  the  window,  humming  a  mourn- 
ful air,  as  he  was  watching  the  approach  of  the  stage, 
which  was  to  bear  his  son  away  to  take  his  place  far 
from  home,  in  the  busy  crowd  of  a  bustling  world.  The 
mother,  with  all  the  indescribable  emotions  of  a  mother's 
heart,  was  placing  in  a  small  bundle  a  few  little  com- 
forts, such  as  none  but  a  mother  would  think  of,  and  with 
most  generous  resolution  endeavoring  to  maintain  a 
cheerful  countenance,  that,  as  far  as  possible,  she  might 
preserve  her  son  from  unnecessary  pain  in  the  hour  o" 
departure. 

6.  Here,  my  son,  said  she,  is  a  nice  pair  of  stockings 
which  will  be  soft  and  warm  for  your  feet.  I  have  run 
the  heels  for  you,  for  I  am  afraid  you  will  not  find  any 
one  who  will  quite  fill  a  mother's  place.  The  poor  boy 
was  overflowing  with  emotion,  and  did  not  dare  to  trust 
his  voice  with  an  attempt  to  reply. 

7.  I  have  put  a  piece  of  cake  here,  for  you  may  be 
hungry  on  the  road,  and  I  will  put  it  in  the  top  of  the 
bundle,  so  that  you  can  get  it  without  any  difficulty. 
And,  in  this  needle-book,  I  have  placed  a  few  needles 
and  some  thread ;  for  you  may  at  times  want  some  little 
stitch  taken,  and  you  will  have  neither  mother  nor  sis- 
ters to  go  to. 

8.  The  departing  son  could  make  no  replv.     He  could 


123 


restrain  his  emotion  only  by  silence.  At  last  the  rum- 
bling  of  the  wheels  of  the  stage  was  heard,  and  the  four 
horses  were  reined  up  at  the  door.  The  boy  endeavored 
by  activity,  in  seeing  his  trunk  and  other  baggage  prop- 
erly placed,  to  gain  sufficient  fortitude  to  enable  him  to 
articulate  his  farewell.     He,  however,  strove  in  vain. 

9.  He  took  his  mother's  hand.  The  tear  glistened  for 
a  moment  in  her  eye,  and  then  silently  rolled  down  her 
cheek.  He  struggled  with  all  his  energy  to  say  good- 
by,  but  he  could  not.  In  unbroken  silence  he  shook  her 
hand,  and  then  in  silence  received  the  adieus  of  brothers 
and  sisters,  as  one  after  another  took  the  hand  of  their 
departing  companion. 

10.  He  then  took  the  warm  hand  of  his  warm-hearted 
father.  His  father  tried  to  smile,  but  it  was  the  strug- 
gling smile  of  feelings  which  would  rather  have  vented 
themselves  in  tears.  For  a  moment  he  said  not  a  word, 
but  retained  the  hand  of  his  son,  as  he  accompanied  him 
out  of  the  door  to  the  stage.  After  a  moment's  silence, 
pressing  his  hand,  he  said,  My  son,  you  are  now  leaving 
us ;  you  may  foiget  your  father  and  your  mother,  your 
brothers  and  your  sisters,  but  O,  do  not  forget  your 
God! 

11.  The  stage  door  closed  upon  the  boy.  The  crack 
of  the  driver's  whip  was  heard,  and  the  rumbling  wheels 
bore  him  rapidly  away  from  all  the  privileges,  and  all 
the  happiness  of  his  early  home.  His  feelings,  so  long 
restrained,  now  overcame  him,  and  sinking  back  on  his 
seat,  he  enveloped  himself  in  his  cloak,  and  burst  into 
tears,  where  in  sadness  and  silence  he  sat  thinking  of 
the  loved  home  he  had  left 


124 


WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER. 


HOME,  SWEET  HOME 


'Mid      plea  -   sures  and        pal    -    a  •  ces        tho'       we   msy    roam, 
2     Z 


Be    it  ev    -    er    so       hum-ble, there's      no     place  like    home: 


Sl^^p 


A         charm  from  the     skies  seems  to  hal   -   low   us      there, 


maiM^jM^mi 


Which,     seek      thro'  the         world,        is     ne'er        met      with    eli 


pljlj^^j^^'.^! 


where.  Home,  home,     sweet,    sweet   home.  Be      it 

P 


ev    -    er        so        hum-ble,  there's       no     place  like    home. 

12.  'Mid  pleasures  and  palaces,  though  we  may  roam, 
Be  it  ever  so  humble,  there's  no  place  like  home": 
A  charm  from  the  skies  seems  to  hallow  us  there, 
Which,  seek  through  the  world,  is  ne'er  met  with  else- 
where. 

Home,  home,  sweet,  sweet  home, 
Be  it  ever  so  humble,  there's  no  place  like  home. 

13.  I  gaze  on  the  moon,  as  I  trace  the  drear  wild, 
And  feel  that  my  parents  now  think  of  their  child ; 


WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER.  125 

They  look  on  that  moon  from  their  own  cottage  door, 
Through  woodbines  whose  fragrance  shall  cheer  me  no 
more. 

14.  An  exile  from  home,  splendor  dazzles  in  vain; 
0,  give  me  my  lowly  thatched  cottage  again ! 
The  birds  singing  gayly,  that  came  at  my  call, 
And  sweet  peace  of  mind,  which  is  dearer  than  all. 

15.  If  I  return  home  overburdened  with  care, 

The  heart's  dearest  solace  I'm  sure  to  meet  there ; 

The  bliss  I  experience  whenever  I  come, 

Makes  no  other  place  seem  like  that  of  sweet  home. 

16.  Farewell,  peaceful  cottage  !  farewell,  happy  home  ! 
Forever  I'm  doomed  a  poor  exile  to  roam  ; 

This  poor  aching  heart  must  be  laid  in  the  tomb, 
Ere  it  cease  to  regret  the  endearments  of  home. 

Home,  home,  sweet,  sweet  home, 
Be  it  ever  so  humble,  there's  no  place  like  home. 


LESSON  L. 

"  PRESS  ON." 

1.  Ppess  on !  there's  no  such  word  as  fail : 

Press  nobly  on !  the  goal  is  near — 
Ascend  the  mountain  !  breast  the  gale ! 

Look  upward,  onward — never  fear  ! 
Why  shouldst  thou  faint  ?  Heaven  smiles  above, 

Though  storm  and  vapor  intervene  : 
That  sun  shines  on  whose  name  is  Love, 

Serenely  o'er  life's  shadowed  scene. 


11* 


126         WEBB'S  FOUKTII  READER. 


2.  Press  on  !  surmount  the  rocky  steeps, 

Climb  boldly  o'er  the  torrent's  arch — 
He  fails  alone  who  feebly  creeps — 

lie  wins  who  dares  the  hero's  march. 
Be  thou  a  hero  !  let  thy  might 

Tramp  on  eternal  snows  its  way, 
And  through  the  ebon  Avails  of  Night 

Hew  down  a  passage  unto  Day. 

3.  Press  on  !  if  once  and  twice  thy  feet 

Slip  back  and  stumble,  harder  try  ; 
From  him  who  never  dreads  to  meet 

Danger  and  Death,  they're  sure  to  fly. 
To  coward  ranks  the  bullet  speeds, 

While  on  their  breasts  who  never  quail 
Gleams  (guardian  of  chivalric  deeds) 

Bright  courage  like  a  coat  of  mail. 

4.  Press  on  !  if  Fortune  plays  thee  false 

To-day,  to-morrow  she'll  be  true  ; 
Whom  now  she  sinks  she  now  exalts, 

Taking  old  gifts  and  granting  new. 
The  wisdom  of  the  present  hour 

Makes  up  for  follies  past  and  gone : 
To  weakness  strength  succeeds,  and  power 

From  frailty  springs  :  press  on  !  press  on ! 

5.  Press  on  !  what  though  upon  the  ground 

Thy  love  has  been  poured  out  like  rain  ? 
That  happiness  is  always  found 

The  sweetest  which  is  born  of  pain. 
Oft  'mid  the  forest's  deepest  glooms 

A  bird  sings  from  some  blighted  tree, 
And  in  the  dreariest  desert  blooms 

A  never-dying  rose  for  thee. 

6.  Therefore  press  on  !  and  reach  the  goal, 

And  gain  the  prize,  and  wear  the  crown ; 


WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER.  127 

Faint  not !  for  to  the  steadfast  soul 
Comes  wealth,  and  honor,  and  renown. 

To  thine  own  self  be  true,  and  keep 

Thy  mind  from  sloth,  thy  heart  from  soil : 

Press  on !  and  thou  shalt  surely  reap 

A  heavenly  harvest  for  thy  toil ! 

Fa&k  Benjamin. 


LESSON  LI. 

THE     LOST     CAMEL. 

A  dervis  was  journeying  alone  in  the  desert,  when 
two  merchants  meeting  him,  he  said  to  them,  "You 
have  lost  a  camel." 

"  Indeed,  we  have,"  they  replied. 

"  Was  he  not  blind  in  his  right  eye,  and  lame  in  his 
left  leg  ?"  said  the  dervis. 

"  He  was,"  replied  the  merchants. 

"  Had  he  lost  a  front  tooth  ?"  asked  the  dervis. 

"  He  had,"  rejoined  the  merchants. 

"  And  was  he  not  loaded  with  honey  on  one  side  and 
wheat  on  the  other  ?" 

"  Most  certainly  he  was,"  they  replied  ;  "  and,  as  you 
have  seen  him  so  lately,  and  marked  him  so  particu- 
larly, in  all  probability  you  can  conduct  us  to  him." 

"  My  friends,"  said  the  dervis,  "  I  have  never  seen 
your  camel,  nor  ever  heard  of  him,  but  from  you." 

"  A  pretty  story,  truly !"  said  the  merchants ;  "  but 
where  are  the  jewels  which  formed  a  part  of  his  cargo?" 

"  I  have  neither  seen  your  camel  nor  your  jewels," 
replied  the  dervis. 

On  this  they  seized  his  person,  and  forthwith  hurried 
him  before  the  Cadi,  where,  on  the  strictest  search, 
nothing  could  be  found  upon  him,  nor  could  any  evi- 


128         WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER. 

dence  whatever  be  adduced  to  convict  him,  either  of 
falsehood  or  theft.  They  were  then  about  to  proceed 
against  him  as  a  sorcerer,  when  the  dervis  with  great 
calmness  thus  addressed  the  court : 

"  I  have  been  much  amused  with  your  surprise,  and 
own  that  there  has  been  some  ground  for  your  suspi- 
cions ;  but  I  have  lived  long  and  alone,  and  I  can  find 
ample  scope  for  observation  even  in  a  desert. 

"  I  knew  that  I  had  crossed  the  track  of  a  camel  that 
had  strayed  from  its  owner,  because  I  saw  no  mark  of 
any  human  footstep  on  the  same  route ;  I  knew  that 
the  animal  was  blind  in  one  eye,  because  it  had  cropped 
the  herbage  only  on  one  side  of  its  path  ;  and  I  perceived 
that  it  was  lame  in  one  leg,  from  the  faint  impression 
which  that  particular  foot  had  produced  upon  the  sand. 

"  I  concluded  that  the  animal  had  lost  one  tooth,  be- 
cause, wherever  it  had  grazed,  a  small  tuft  of  herbage 
was  left  uninjured  in  the  center  of  its  bite.  As  to  that 
which  formed  the  burden  of  the  beast,  the  busy  ants  in- 
formed me  that  it  was  corn  on  one  side,  and  the  clus- 
tering flies  that  it  was  honey  on  the  other." 

The  story  is  not  without  its  moral.  A  habit  of  ob- 
servation, of  noticing  what  is  going  on  around  us,  is  of 
great  use  in  storing  the  mind  with  knowledge,  and  pre- 
paring us  for  usefulness. 


LESSON  LII. 

PETER     THE     GREAT, 


1.  One  day,  as  the  czar  was  returning  from  hunting, 
he  happened  to  loiter  behind  the  rest  of  the  company. 
to  enjoy  the  cool  air,  when,  looking  around,  he  observed 


WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER.  1 2  i> 

a  boy  standing  on  the  top  bar  of  a  stile,  looking  earnestly 
about  him,  upon  which  he  rode  briskly  up  and  accosted 
him  with — "  Well,  my  boy,  what  are  you  looking  for  ?" 

2.  "  Please  your  honor,'*  said  the  boy,  "  I  am  looking 
out  for  the  king."  "  O,"  said  the  emperor,  "  if  you  will 
get  up  behind  me,  I  will  show  him  to  you."  The  boy 
mounted,  and,  as  they  were  riding  along,  the  czar  said, 
"  You  will  know  which  is  the  emperor  by  seeing  the 
rest  take  off  their  hats  to  him." 

3.  Soon  after,  the  emperor  came  up  to  the  party,  who, 
much  surprised  at  seeing  him  so  attended,  immediately 
saluted  him,  when  the  czar,  turning  around  his  head,  said, 
"  Now,  do  you  see  who  is  the  king  ?"  "  Why,"  replied 
the  boy,  archly,  "it  is  one  of  us  two ;  but  I  am  sure  I 
do  not  know  which,  for  both  of  us  have  our  hats  on." 


LESSON  LIII. 

THE      CARRIER     PIGEON. 

1.  This  species  of  pigeon  is  easily  distinguished  from 
all  others  by  the  eyes,  which  are  encompassed  about 
with  a  broad  circle  of  naked,  white  skin ;  and  by  being 
of  a  dark  blue  or  blackish  color. 

2.  They  derive  their  name  from  the  service  in  which 
they  have  been  employed.  They  have  been,  for  ages, 
used  to  convey  speedy  messages  from  place  to  place, 
from  governors  in  besieged  cities,  to  generals  who  are 
expected  to  relieve  them ;  they  were  sent  from  princes 
to  their  subjects,  with  official  dispatches,  or  from  gov- 
ernors of  provinces  to  the  seat  of  general  government, 
with  the  news  of  important  events. 

3.  It  is  attachment  to  their  native  place,  and  particu- 
larly where  they  have  brought  up  their  young,  that  leads 


130         WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER. 

them  to  seek  a  return  with  so  much  eagerness.  They 
are  first  brought  from  the  place  where  they  are  bred,  and 
whither  it  is  intended  to  send  them  back  with  informa- 
tion. The  letter  is  tied  under  the  bird's  wing,  and  it  is 
then  let  loose  to  return. 

4.  The  little  creature  no  sooner  finds  itself  at  liberty, 
than  its  passion  for  home  directs  all  its  motions.  It 
is  first  seen  flying  directly  into  the  air,  to  an  amazing 
higbt,  and  then,  with  the  greatest  certainty  and  exact- 
ness, directing  itself,  by  some  surprising  instinct,  toward 
its  native  spot,  which  often  lies  far  distant. 

5.  We  have  no  doubt,  says  a  writer  in  the  Library  of 
Entertaining  Knowledge,  it  is  by  the  eye  alone  that  the 
carrier  pigeon  performs  those  extraordinary  aerial  jour- 
neys, which  have,  from  the  earliest  ages,  excited  astonish- 
ment. 

6.  We  have  frequently  witnessed  the  experiment  made 
with  other  pigeons,  of  taking  them  to  a  distance  from  the 
dove-cot,  expressly  to  observe  their  manner  of  finding 
their  way  back,  and  we  feel  satisfied  that  their  proceed- 
ings are  uniformly  the  same. 

7.  On  being  let  go  from  the  bag  in  which  they  have 
been  carried,  to  conceal  from  their  notice  the  objects 
on  the  road,  they  dart  off  on  an  irregular  excursion, 
as  if  it  were  more  to  ascertain  the  reality  of  their 
freedom,  than  to  make  an  effort  to  return.  When  they 
find  themselves  at  full  liberty,  they  direct  their  flight  in 
circles  around  the  spot  whence  they  have  been  liberated  ; 
not  only  increasing  the  diameter  of  the  circle  at  every 
round,  but  rising,  at  the  same  time,  gradually  higher. 

8.  This  is  continued  as  long  as  the  eye  can  discern 
the  birds ;  and  hence  we  conclude,  that  it  is  also  con- 
tinued after  we  lose  sight  of  them, — a  constantly  in- 
creasing circle  being  made,  till  they  ascertain  some 
known  object,  enabling  them  to  shape  a  direct  course. 


WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER.         131 

9.  It  is  not  a  little  interesting  to  contrast  the  proceed- 
ings just  described  with  those  of  a  pigeon  let  off  from  a 
balloon  elevated  above  the  clouds.  Instead  of  rising  in 
circles  like  the  former,  the  balloon  pigeon  drops  perpen- 
dicularly down  like  a  plummet,  till  it  is  able  to  recog- 
nize some  indications  of  the  earth  below,  when  it  begins 
to  whirl  around  in  a  descending  spiral,  increasing  in 
diameter,  for  the  evident  purpose  of  surveying  its  local- 
ity, and  discovering  some  object  previously  known,  by 
which  to  direct  its  flight. 

10.  The  rapidity  with  which  the  carrier  pigeon  per- 
forms long  journeys,  may  perhaps  be  adduced  as  an  ob- 
jection to  this  explanation.  M.  Antoine,  for  example, 
tells  us  that  a  gentleman  of  Cologne,  having  business  to 
transact  at  Paris,  laid  a  wager  of  fifty  Napoleons  that  he 
would  let  his  friend  know  of  his  arrival  within  three 
hours ;  and  as  the  distance  is  three  hundred  miles,  the 
bet  was  eagerly  taken. 

11.  He  accordingly  took  with  him  two  carrier  pigeons, 
which  had  young  at  the  time  ;  and  on  arriving  at  Paris, 
at  ten  o'clock  in  the  morning,  he  tied  a  letter  to  each  of 
his  pigeons,  and  dispatched  them  at  eleven  precisely. 

12.  One  of  them  arrived  at  Cologne  at  five  minutes 
past  one  o'clock,  and  the  other  nine  minutes  later ;  and 
consequently  they  had  performed  nearly  a  hundred  and 
fifty  miles  an  hour,  reckoning  their  flight  to  have  been 
in  a  direct  line.  But  if  they  took  a  circular  flight,  as 
we  have  concluded  from  the  above  facts,  their  rapidity 
must  have  been  much  greater. 

13.  The  bird  let  loose  in  eastern  skies, 
When  hastening  fondly  home, 
Ne'er  stoops  to  earth  her  wings,  or  fliog 
Where  idle  wanderers  roam. 


132         WEBB'S  FOURTH  HEADER. 


LESSON  LIV. 

THE    CATARACT    OF    LODORE. 

1.  "  How  docs  the  water  come  down  at  Lodore  ?" 
My  little  boy  asked  me  thus,  once  on  a  time ; 
And  moreover  he  tasked  me 
To  tell  him  in  rhyme. 
Anon  at  the  word, 
There  first  came  one  daughter, 
And  then  came  another, 
To  second  and  third  the  request  of  their  brother, 
And  to  hear  how  the  water  comes  down  at  Lodore, 
With  its  rush  and  its  roar, 

As  many  a  time 
They  had  seen  it  before. 

So  I  told  them  in  rhyme, 
For  of  rhymes  I  had  store. 

2.  From  its  sources,  which  well 

In  the  tarn  on  the  fell ; 
From  its  fountains  in  the  mountains, 
Its  rills  and  its  gills  ; 
Through  moss  and  through  brake, 
It  runs  and  it  creeps  for  a  while,  till  it  sleeps 
In  its  own  little  lake. 

3.  And  thence  at  departing,  awakening  and  starting, 
It  runs  through  the  reeds,  and  away  it  proceeds, 
Through  meadow  and  glade,  in  sun  and  in  shade, 
And  through  the  wood -shelter, 

Among  crags  in  its  flurry, 

Helter  skelter,  hurry  skurry, 
Here  it  comes  sparkling,  and  there  it  lies  darkling ; 

Now  smoking  and  frothing 

In  tumult  and  wrath  in, 
Till,  in  this  rapid  race,  on  which  it  is  bent, 
Jt  reaches  the  place  of  its  steep  descent. 


,  •  c 


WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER.         133 

4.  The  cataract  strong  then  plunges  along, 
Striking  and  raging  as  if  a  war  waging, 

Its  caverns  and  rocks  among  ; 
Rising  and  leaping,  sinking  and  creeping, 

Swelling  and  sweeping,  p 

Showering  and  springing,  flying  and  flinging, 

Writhing  and  wringing, 
Eddying  and  whisking,  turning  and  twisting, 
Around  and  around,  with  endless  rebound ; 
Smiting  and  fighting,  a  sight  to  delight  in ; 

Confounding,  astounding, 
Dizzying  and  deafening  the  ear  with  its  sound. 

5.  Collecting,  projecting,  receding,  and  speeding, 
And  shocking  and  rocking,  and  darting  and  parting, 
And  threading  and  spreading,  and  whizzing  and  hissing, 
And  dripping  and  skipping,  and  hitting  and  splitting, 
And  shining  and  twining,  and  rattling  and  battling, 
And  shaking  and  quaking,  and  pouring  and  roaring, 
And  waving  and  raving,  and  tossing  and  crossing, 

6.  And  flowing  and  going,  and  running  and  stunning, 
And  foaming  and  roaming,  and  dinning  and  spinning, 
And  dropping  and  hopping,  and  working  and  jerking, 
And  guggling  and  struggling,  and  heaving  and  cleaving, 
And  moaning  and  groaning,  and  glittering  and  frittering, 
And  gathering  and  feathering,  and  whitening  and  brightening, 
And  quivering  and  shivering,  and  hurrying  and  skurrying, 

Y.  And  thundering  and  floundering, 
Dividing,  and  gliding,  and  sliding, 
And  falling,  and  brawling,  and  sprawling, 
And  driving,  and  riving,  and  striving, 
And  sprinkling,  and  twinkling,  and  wrinkling, 
And  sounding,  and  bounding,  and  rounding, 
And  bubbling,  and  troubling,  and  doubling, 
And  grumbling,  and  rumbling,  and  tumbling, 
And  clattering,  and  battering,  and  shattering ; 

12 


134         WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER. 

8.  Retreating  and  beating,  and  meeting  and  sheeting, 
Delaying  and  straying,  and  playing  and  spraying, 
Advancing  and  prancing,  and  glancing  and  dancing, 
Recoiling,  turmoiling,  and  toiling  and  boiling, 
A  :d  gleaming  and  streaming,  and  steaming  and  beaming. 
And  rushing  and  flushing,  and  brushing  and  gushing, 
And  flapping  and  wrapping,  and  clapping  and  slapping, 
And  curling  and  whirling,  and  purling  and  twirling, 
And  thumping  and  plumping,  and  bumping  and  jumping, 
And  dashing  and  flashing,  and  splashing  and  clashing ; 
And  so  never  ending,  but  always  descending, 
Sounds  and  motions  forever  are  blending, 
All  at  once,  and  all  o'er,  with  a  mighty  uproar ; — 
And  this  way  the  water  comes  down  at  Lodore. 

Southet. 

Note. — This  lesson  is  given  more  for  an  exercise  in  articulation  than 
reading.    Great  care  must  be  taken  in  the  pronunciation. 


LESSON  LV. 

THE   RIGHTEOUS  NEVER  FORSAKEN. 

1.  It  was  Saturday  night,  and  the  widow  of  the  pine 
cottage  sat  by  her  blazing  fagots  with  five  tattered  chil- 
dren at  her  side,  endeavoring,  by  listening  to  the  art- 
lessness  of  their  juvenile  prattle,  to  dissipate  the  heavy 
gloom  that  pressed  upon  her  mind.  For  a  year,  her 
own  feeble  hands  had  provided  for  her  helpless  family  ; 
for  she  had  no  supporter,  she  thought  of  no  friend,  in  all 
the  wide,  unfriendly  world  around. 

2.  But  that  mysterious  Providence,  the  wisdom  of 
whose  ways  is  above  human  comprehension,  had  visited 
her  with  wasting  sickness,  and  her  little  means  had  be- 
come exhausted.  It  was  now,  too,  mid-winter,  and  the 
snow  lay  heavy  and  deep  throughout  all  the  surrounding 


WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER.         135 

forests,  while  storms  still  seemed  gathering  in  the  heavens, 
and  the  driving  wind  roared  amidst  the  bending  pines, 
and  rocked  her  puny  mansion. 

3.  The  last  herring  smoked  upon  the  coals  before  her : 
it  was  the  only  article  of  food  she  possessed ;  and  no 
wonder  her  forlorn,  desolate  state  brought  up  in  her  lone 
bosom  all  the  anxieties  of  a  mother,  when  she  looked 
upon  her  children ;  and  no  wonder,  forlorn  as  she  was, 
if  she  suffered  the  heart-swellings  of  despair  to  rise, 
even  though  she  knew  that  He,  whose  promise  is  to  the 
widow  and  to  the  orphan,  can  not  forget  His  word. 

4.  Many  years  before,  her  eldest  son  went  from  his 
forest  home,  to  try  his  fortune  on  the  high  seas ;  since 
which,  she  had  heard  no  note  or  tidings  from  him ;  and, 
in  the  latter  time,  Providence  had,  by  the  hand  of  death, 
deprived  her  of  the  companion  and  staff  of  her  worldly 
pilgrimage,  in  the  person  of  her  husband.  Yet  to  this 
hour,  she  had  been  upborne ;  she  had  not  only  been  able 
to  provide  for  her  little  flock,  but  had  even  an  oppor- 
tunity of  ministering  to  the  wants  of  the  miserable  and 
the  destitute. 

5.  The  indolent  may  well  bear  with  poverty,  while 
the  ability  to  gain  sustenance  remains.  The  individual, 
who  has  only  his  own  wants  to  supply,  may  suffer  with 
fortitude  the  winter  of  want ;  his  affections  are  not 
wounded,  his  heart  is  not  wrung.  The  most  desolate, 
in  populous  cities,  may  hope ;  for  Charity  has  not  quite 
closed  her  hand  and  heart,  and  shut  her  eyes  on  misery. 
But  the  industrious  mother  of  helpless  and  depending 
children,  far  from  the  reach  of  human  charity,  has  none 
of  these  to  console  her. 

6.  Such  a  one  was  the  widow  of  the  pine  cottage  ; 
but,  as  she  bent  over  the  fire,  and  took  up  the  last  scanty 
remnant  of  food,  to  spread  before  her  children,  her  spirits 
seemed  to  brighten  up,  as  by  some  sudden  and  myste- 


136  WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER. 

rious  impulse ;  and  Cowper's  beautiful  lines  came,  un- 
called, across  her  mind — 

"Judge  not  the  Lord  by  feeble  sense, 
But  trust  Him  for  His  grace : 
Behind  a  frowning  providence 
He  hides  a  smiling  face." 

7.  The  smoked  herring  was  scarcely  laid  upon  the 
table,  when  a  gentle  rap  at  the  door,  and  loud  barking, 
attracted  the  attention  of  the  family.  The  children 
flew  to  open  it,  and  a  weary  traveler,  in  tattered  gar- 
ments, apparently  in  indifferent  health,  entered,  and 
begged  a  lodging,  and  a  mouthful  of  food.  Said  he, 
"  It  is  now  twenty-four  hours  since  I  tasted  bread." 

8.  The  widow's  heart  bled  anew,  as  under  a  fresh 
complication  of  distresses  ;  for  her  sympathies  lingered 
not  around  her  fireside.  She  hesitated  not,  even  now  : 
rest,  and  a  share  of  all  she  had,  she  proffered  to  the 
stranger.  "  We  shall  not  be  forsaken,"  said  she,  "  or 
suffer  deeper  for  an  act  of  charity." 

9.  The  traveler  drew  near  the  board ;  but  when  he 
saw  the  scanty  fare,  he  raised  his  eyes  toward  heaven 
with  astonishment.  "  Is  this  all  your  store  ?"  said  he  ; 
"  and  a  share  of  this  do  you  offer  to  one  you  know  not  ? 
Then  never  saw  I  charity  before !  But,  madam,"  said 
he,  continuing,  "do  not  wrong  your  children  by  giving 
a  part  of  your  last  mouthful  to  a  stranger." 

10.  "Ah!"  said  the  poor  widow, — and  the  tear-drops 
gushed  into  her  eyes  as  she  said  it, — "  I  have  a  boy,  a 
darling  son,  somewhere  on  the  face  of  the  wide  world, 
unless  Heaven  has  taken  him  away,  and  I  only  act 
toward  you,  as  I  would  that  others  should  act  toward 
him.  God,  who  sent  manna  from  heaven,  can  provide 
for  us  as  He  did  for  Israel  ;  and  how  should  I,  this 
night,  offend  Him,  if  my  son  should  be  a  wanderer, 


WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER.         137 

destitute  as  you,  and  He  should  have  provided  for  him 
a  home,  even  poor  as  this,  were  I  to  turn  you  unre- 
lieved away !" 

11.  The  widow  ended,  and  the  stranger,  springing 
from  his  seat,  clasped  her  in  his  arms — "  God  indeed  has 
provided  just  such  a  home  for  your  wandering  son,  and 
has  given  him  wealth  to  reward  the  goodness  of  his 
benefactress.     My  mother !  O  my  mother !" 

12.  It  was  her  long-lost  son,  returned  to  her  bosom 
from  the  Indies.  He  had  chosen  that  disguise,  that  he 
might  the  more  completely  surprise  his  family;  and 
never  was  surprise  more  perfect,  or  followed  by  a  sweeter 
cup  of  joy. 

13.  That  humble  residence  in  the  forest  was  ex- 
changed for  one  comfortable,  and,  indeed,  beautiful,  in 
the  valley ;  and  the  widow  lived  long  with  her  dutiful 
son,  in  the  enjoyment  of  worldly  plenty,  and  in  the  de- 
lightful employments  of  virtue. 


LESSON  LVI. 

SMALL     BEGINNINGS. 

1.  Despise  not  the  day  of  small  things.  This  sentence 
contains  wisdom  and  philosophy,  as  well  as  Scripture. 
It  is  very  easy  and  natural  to  sneer  at  small  beginnings 
and  humble  means ;  but  it  is  not  always  wise  to  do  so. 
It  is  better  to  commence  on  a  humble  scale,  and  come 
out  in  good  style  at  last,  than  to  suffer  a  severe  collapse 
after  an  extensive  and  ridiculous  flourish.  Some  men 
will  do  better  with  a  capital  of  sixpence  than  they  would 
if  half  the  fortune  of  Astor  had  been  given  them  to  com- 
mence writh. 


12^ 


138         WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER. 

2.  We  have  heard  it  told  of  a  man  worth  his  millions, 
that  he  commenced  by  selling  fruit  at  a  street-stall.  We 
have  seen  boys  at  school  roll  a  handful  of  snow  on  the 
ground,  till,  by  its  accumulated  matter,  #t  became  so 
bulky  that  a  dozen  could  scarcely  move  it.  Sands  make 
the  mountains,  moments  make  the  year,  drops  make  the 
ocean,  and  so  little  endeavors,  earnestly,  unceasingly, 
and  honestly  put  forth,  make  the  great  men  in  the 
world's  history. 

3.  We  say,  then,  do  not  despise  the  day  of  small 
things.  If  you  have  an  undertaking  to  accomplish,  or  a 
good  thing  to  bring  about,  begin  according  to  your 
means,  and  never  be  discouraged  because  you  can  not 
make  so  magnificent  a  commencement  as  you  could 
wish.  Old  King  John,  the  Frenchman,  five  hundred 
years  ago,  conceived  the  idea  of  founding  a  library,  and 
he  began  with — what  do  you  suppose  ? — two  volumes  ! 
But  he  knew  what  he  was  about ;  for  that  library — the 
Royal  Library  of  Paris — is  now  the  most  magnificent 
public  library  in  the  world,  and  contains  700,000  vol- 
umes ! 

4.  A  whale  one  day  came  frolicking  into  the  harbor 
of  Nantucket,  a  short  time  after  the  first  settlement  of 
that  island,  and  as  it  continued  there  for  many  hours, 
the  enterprising  inhabitants  were  induced  to  contrive 
and  prepare  a  large  barbed  iron,  with  a  strong  cord  at- 
tached, with  which  they  finally  succeeded  in  securing 
this  aquatic  monster.  A  small  matter,  truly  ;  but  it  was 
the  commencement  of  a  business  which  has  added  mil- 
lions to  the  wealth  of  the  people — the  incipient  intro- 
duction to  an  enterprise  which,  nearly  three  quarters  of  a 
century  ago,  extorted  a  noble  tribute  of  admiration  from 
Edmund  Burke,  on  the  floor  of  the  British  parliament. 

5.  Two  fishermen  in  Holland  once  had  a  dispute  in  a 
tavern,  on  the  question  whether  the  fish  takes  the  hook, 

1L- 


WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER.  139 

or  the  hook  takes  the  fish.  From  this  trivial  circum- 
stance arose  two  opposing  parties,  the  "  Hooks"  and  the 
"  Cobble- Joints,"  who,  for  two  centuries,  divided  the 
nation,  and  maintained  a  contest  not  unlike  that  be- 
tween the  red  and  the  white  roses  in  England. 

6.  There  is  a  traditionary  counterpart  to  this  in  our 
own  history.  We  allude  to  the  story  of  the  pig,  whose 
stupid  obstinacy,  we  are  gravely  told,  involved  us  in  a 
war  with  Great  Britain,  in  1812.  There  is  nothing  in- 
credible about  it,  however ;  and,  as  most  of  our  readers 
are  too  young  to  recollect  the  circumstance,  we  will 
venture  to  relate  the  anecdote. 

7.  "  Two  neighbors,  both  of  the  old  federal  school  of 
politics,  who  lived  in  the  city  of  Providence,  chanced  to 
quarrel ;  and  it  so  happened  that  one  was  the  owner  of 
a  pig,  which  had  an  irresistible  inclination  to  perambu- 
late in  the  garden  of  the  next  neighbor.  The  owner  of 
the  garden  complained  of  the  pig-sty  being  insufficient 
to  restrain  the  pig ;  and  the  neighbor  replied,  it  was  all 
because  he  kept  his  fences  in  such  ill  repair.  The  pig 
was  taking  his  morning  walk,  when  he  was  surprised  in 
the  act  of  rooting  up  some  very  valuable  bulbous  roots. 

8.  "  This  was  the  last  '  feather :'  the  owner  of  the 
garden  put  a  pitchfork  into  his  tender  sides,  and  killed 
him  outright.  At  the  coming  election,  the  owner  of  the 
garden  was  a  candidate  for  a  seat  in  the  Legislature, 
and  failed  by  one  vote — the  vote  of  his  incensed  neigh- 
bor, who  voted  against  him.  At  the  election  of  a  sena- 
tor, the  democratic  candidate  was  elected  by  one  vote ; 
and  when  the  question  of  war  with  England  was  before 
the  senate,  it  was  declared  by  the  majority  of  one  vote ; 
so  thai,  but  for  this  pig,  we  should  probably  have  been 
saved  from  this  war." 

9.  It  is  related  of  Chantrey,  the  celebrated  sculptor, 
that,  when  a  boy,  he  was  one  day  observed  by  a  gentle- 


140         WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER. 

man,  in  the  neighborhood  of  Sheffield,  very  earnestly- 
engaged  in  cutting  a  stick  with  a  penknife.  This  gen- 
tleman asked  the  lad  what  he  was  doing,  and,  with  great 
simplicity,  the  boy  replied,  "  I  am  cutting  old  Fox's 
head."  Fox  was  the  schoolmaster  of  the  village.  On 
this,  the  gentleman  asked  to  see  what  he  had  done,  and 
pronouncing  it  an  excellent  likeness,  presented  the  youth 
a  sixpence.  This  may  be  reckoned  as  the  first  money 
Chantrey  ever  received  for  the  production  of  his  art ; 
and  from  such  a  beginning  it  was  that  arose  this  great 
est  of  modern  artists. 

10.  Again  we  say,  despise  not  small  beginnings,  noi 
look  with  supercilious  contempt  upon  every  thing  which 
appears  insignificant  and  trifling.  Trifles  are  not  sc 
plenty  in  this  world  as  many  of  us  imagine.  A  philos- 
opher has  observed  that  wars,  involving  mischief  to 
great  nations,  have  arisen  from  a  ministerial  dispatch 
being  written  in  a  fit  of  indigestion !  When  Alexander 
Pope  received  his  present  of  Turkey  figs,  he  little  thought 
that  a  twig  from  the  basket  was  to  be*  the  means  of  in- 
troducing the  weeping  willow  into  England  and  America. 

11.  So  is  this  world  made  up  of  and  governed  by  tri- 
fles, at  first  too  small  to  attract  notice ;  and  the  wise 
man  will  not  only  cultivate  sharp  eyes,  but  attentive 
habits,  making  the  most  and  the  best  of  every  thing. 


LESSON    LTII. 

DOMESTIC      BLISS. 

1.  How  sweet,  when  weary  toils  are  o'er, 
And  darkness  vails  the  earth, 
To  taste  those  joys  that  cluster  'round 
The  fond  domestic  hearth  ! 


WEBB'S  FOUKTH  READER.         141 

2.  To  have  the  wife  and  smiling  group 

Await  you  at  the  door, 
To  share  the  fond  embrace  and  kiss ; — 
0,  who  could  wish  for  more  ! 

3.  And  then  within  the  ivied  cot 

There's  no  profusion  there ; 
Yet  it  contains  what  ne'er  was  found 
To  dwell  with  prince  or  peer. 

4.  O,  'tis  the  bliss  of  sweet  content — 

Of  ardent,  guileless  love : 
These  make  the  humblest  cottage  home 
Like  Paradise  above ! 

Sidney  Dtek. 


LESSON    LVIII. 

HARMONY  AMONG  BROTHERS. 

Two  brothers,  named  Timon  and  Demetrius,  having 
quarreled  with  each  other,  Socrates,  their  common 
friend,  was  solicitous  to  restore  amity  between  them. 
Meeting,  therefore,  with  Demetrius,  he  thus  accosted 
him  : — 

"  Is  not  friendship  the  sweetest  solace  in  adversity,  and 
the  greatest  enhancement  of  the  blessings  of  prosperity  ?" 

Demetrius.  Certainly  it  is ;  for  our  sorrows  are  di- 
minished, and  our  joys  increased,  by  sympathetic  partici- 
pation. 

Socrates.  Among  whom,  then,  must  we  look  for  a 
friend  ?  Would  you  search  among  strangers  ?  They 
can  not  be  interested  for  you.  Among  your  rivals  ? 
They  have  an  interest  in  opposition  to  yours.  Among 
those  who  are  older  or  younger  than  yourself?  Their 
feelings  and  pursuits  will  be  widely  different  from  yours. 


142         WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER. 

Are  there  not,  then,  some  circumstances  favorable,  and 
others  essential,  to  the  formation  of  friendship  ? 

Demetrius.  Undoubtedly  there  are. 

Socrates.  May  we  not  enumerate  among  the  cir- 
cumstances favorable  to  friendship,  long  acquaintance, 
common  connections,  similitude  of  age,  and  union  of 
interest  ? 

Demetrius.  I  acknowledge  the  powerful  influence  of 
these  circumstances  ;  but  they  may  subsist,  and  yet 
others  be  wanting  that  are  essential  to  mutual  amity. 

Socrates.  And  what  are  those  essentials  wanting  in 
Timon  ? 

Demetrius.  He  has  forfeited  my  esteem  and  attach- 
ment. 

Socrates.  And  has  he  also  forfeited  the  esteem  and 
attachment  of  the  rest  of  mankind  ?  Is  he  devoid  of 
benevolence,  generosity,  gratitude,  and  other  social  af- 
fections ? 

Demetrius.  Far  be  it  from  me  to  lay  so  heavy  a  charge 
against  him.  His  conduct  to  others  is,  I  believe,  irre- 
proachable, and  it  wounds  me  the  more  that  he  should 
single  me  out  as  the  object  of  his  unkindness. 

Socrates.  Suppose  you  have  a  very  valuable  horse, 
gentle  under  the  treatment  of  others,  but  ungovernable 
when  you  attempt  to  use  him,  would  you  not  endeavor, 
by  all  means,  to  conciliate  his  affections,  and  to  treat 
him  in  the  way  most  likely  to  render  him  tractable  ? 
Or,  if  you  have  a  dog  highly  prized  for  his  fidelity,  watch- 
fulness, and  care  of  your  flocks,  who  is  fond  of  your 
shepherds,  and  playful  with  them,  and  yet  snarls  when- 
ever you  come  in  his  way,  would  you  attempt  to  cure 
him  of  his  fault  by  angry  looks  or  words,  or  by  any  other 
marks  of  resentment  ?  You  would  surely  pursue  an 
opposite  course  with  him.  And  is  not  the  friendship  of 
a  brother  of  far  more  worth  than  the  services  of  a  horse, 


webb's  fourth  reader.       143 

or  the  attachment  of  a  dog  ?  Why,  then,  do  you  delay 
to  put  in  practice  those  means,  which  may  reconcile  you 
to  Timon  ? 

Demetrius.  Acquaint  me  with  those  means,  for  I  am 
a  stranger  to  them. 

Socrates.  Answer  me  a  few  questions.  If  you  were 
desirous  that  one  of  your  neighbors  should  invite  you  to 
his  feast,  when  he  offers  a  sacrifice,  what  course  would 
you  take  ? 

Demetrius.  I  would  first  invite  him  to  mine. 

Socrates.  And  how  would  you  induce  him  to  take  the 
charge  of  your  affairs  if  you  were  on  a  journey? 

Demetrius.  I  should  be  forward  to  do  the  same  good 
office  for  him  in  his  absence. 

Socrates.  If  you  were  solicitous  to  remove  a  prejudice 
which  he  may  have  received  against  you,  how  would 
you  then  behave  toward  him  ? 

Demetrius.  I  should  endeavor  to  convince  him,  by  my 
looks,  words,  and  actions,  that  such  prejudice  was  ill- 
founded. 

Socrates.  And  if  he  appeared  inclined  to  reconcilia- 
tion, would  you  reproach  him  with  the  injustice  he  had 
done  you  ? 

Demetrius.  No,  I  would  repeat  no  grievances. 

Socrates.  Go,  and  pursue  that  conduct  toward  your 
brother,  which  you  would  practice  to  a  neighbor.  His 
friendship  is  of  inestimable  worth,  and  nothing  is  more 
lovely  in  the  sight  of  Heaven  than  for  brothers  to  dwell 
together  in  unity.  ,, 

0  J  Percivai* 


144  WEBB'S  FOURTH  HEADER. 

LESSON  LIX. 

DESCRIPTION  OF  THE  PERSON   OF  JESUS  CHRIST. 

1.  There  lives  at  this  time  in  Judea  a  man  of  singular 
character,  whose  name  is  Jesus  Christ.  The  barbarians 
esteem  him  as  a  prophet ;  but  his  followers  adore  him  as 
the  immediate  offspring  of  the  immortal  God.  He  is 
endowed  with  such  unparalleled  virtue  as  to  call  back 
the  dead  from  their  graves,  and  to  heal  every  kind  of 
disease  with  a  word  or  a  touch. 

2.  His  person  is  tall  and  elegantly  shaped ;  his  aspect 
amiable  and  reverend  ;  his  hair  flows  in  those  beauteous 
shades  which  no  united  colors  can  match,  falling  in 
graceful  curls  below  his  ears,  agreeably  couching  on  his 
shoulders,  and  parting  on  the  crown  of  his  head;  his 
dress  is  of  the  sect  of  Nazarites  ;  his  forehead  is  smooth 
and  large ;  his  cheek  without  either  spot,  save  that  of  a 
lovely  red;  his  nose  and  mouth  are  formed  with  ex- 
quisite symmetry ;  his  beard  is  thick  and  suitable  to  the 
hair  of  his  head,  reaching  a  little  below  his  chin  and 
parting  in  the  middle  like  a  fork ;  his  eyes  are  bright, 
clear,  and  serene. 

3.  He  rebukes  with  mildness,  and  invites  with  the 
most  tender  and  persuasive  language, — his  whole  ad- 
dress, whether  word  or  deed,  being  elegant,  grave,  and 
strictly  characteristic  of  so  exalted  a  being.  No  man 
has  seen  him  laugh,  but  the  whole  world  beholds  him 
weep  frequently ;  and  so  persuasive  are  his  tears,  that 
the  whole  multitude  can  not  withhold  their  tears  from 
joining  in  sympathy  with  him.  He  is  very  modest,  tem- 
perate, and  wise ;  in  short,  whatever  this  phenomenon 
may  turn  out  in  the  end,  he  seems,  at  present,  to  be  a 
man  of  excellent  beauty,  and  divine  perfections,  every 
way  surpassing  the  children  of  men.  Joskphus. 


WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER.  145 


LESSON   LX. 

THE     BLIND    PREACHER. 

1.  One  Sunday,  as  I  traveled  through  the  county  of 
Orange,  my  eye  was  caught  by  a  cluster  of  horses,  tied 
near  a  ruinous,  old  wooden  house  in  the  forest,  not  far 
from  the  road-side.  Having  frequently  seen  such  ob- 
jects before,  in  traveling  through  these  states,  I  had  no 
difficulty  in  understanding  that  this  was  a  place  of  re- 
ligious worship.  Devotion,  alone,  should  have  stopped 
me,  to  join  in  the  duties  of  the  congregation ;  but  I 
must  confess,  that  curiosity  to  hear  the  preacher  of  such 
a  wilderness,  was  not  the  least  of  my  motives. 

2.  On  entering  the  house,  I  was  struck  with  his  pre- 
ternatural appearance.  He  was  a  tall  and  very  spare 
old  man, — his  head,  which  was  covered  with  a  white 
linen  cap,  his  shriveled  hands,  and  his  voice,  were  all 
shaken  under  the  influence  of  a  palsy,  and  a  few  mo- 
ments convinced  me  that  he  was  blind.  The  first  emo- 
tions which  touched  my  breast,  were  those  of  mingled 
pity  and  veneration.  But  ah !  how  soon  were  all  my 
feelings  changed ! 

3.  It  was  a  day  of  the  administration  of  the  sacra- 
ment, and  his  subject,  of  course,  was  the  passion  of  our 
Savior.  I  had  heard  the  subject  handled  a  thousand 
times ;  I  had  thought  it  exhausted  long  ago.  Little  did 
I  suppose,  that  in  the  wild  woods  of  America,  I  was  to 
meet  with  a  man  whose  eloquence  would  give  to  this 
topic,  a  new  and  more  sublime  pathos  than  I  had  ever 
before  witnessed. 

4.  As  he  descended  from  the  pulpit,  to  distribute  the 
mystic  symbols,  there  was  a  peculiar,  a  more  than  human 
solemnity  in  his  air  and  manner,  which  made  my  blood 
run  cold,  and  my  whole  frame  to  shiver.    He  then  drew 


13 


146         WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER. 

a  picture  of  the  sufferings  of  our  Savior — his  trial  be- 
fore Pilate — his  ascent  up  Calvary — tiis  crucifixion — 
and  his  death. 

5.  I  knew  the  whole  history ;  but  never,  until  then, 
had  I  heard  the  circumstances  so  selected,  so  arranged, 
so  colored !  It  was  all  new ;  and  I  seemed  to  have 
heard  it  for  the  first  time  in  my  life.  His  enunciation 
was  so  deliberate,  that  his  voice  trembled  on  every  syl- 
lable; and  every  heart  in  the  assembly  trembled  in 
unison. 

6.  His  peculiar  phrases  had  that  force  of  description, 
that  the  original  scene  appeared  to  be,  at  that  moment, 
acting  before  our  eyes.  We  saw  the  very  faces  of  the 
Jews — the  staring,  frightful  distortions  of  malice  and 
rage.  We  saw  the  buffet, — my  soul  kindled  with  a 
flame  of  indignation,  and  my  hands  were  involuntarily 
and  convulsively  clinched. 

7.  But  when  he  came  to  touch  the  patience,  the  for- 
giving meekness  of  our  Savior — when  he  drew,  to  the 
life,  His  blessed  eyes  streaming  in  tears  to  heaven — His 
voice  breathing  to  God  a  soft  and  gentle  prayer  of  par- 
don on  His  enemies : — "  Father,  forgive  them,  for  they 
know  not  what  they  do," — the  voice  of  the  preacher, 
which  had  all  along  faltered,  grew  fainter  and  fainter, 
until  his  utterance  being  entirely  obstructed  by  the 
force  of  his  feelings,  he  raised  his  handkerchief  to  his 
eyes,  and  burst  into  a  loud  and  irrepressible  flood  of 
grief.  The  effect  was  inconceivable.  The  whole  house 
resounded  with  the  mingled  groans,  and  sobs,  and  shrieks 
of  the  congregation. 

8.  It  was  some  time  before  the  tumult  had  subsided, 
so  far  as  to  permit  him  to  proceed.  Indeed,  judging  by 
the  usual,  but  fallacious  standard  of  my  own  weakness, 
I  began  to  be  very  uneasy  for  the  situation  of  the 
preacher.     For  I  could  not  conceive  how  he  would  be 


WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER.         14  7 

able  to  let  his  audience  down  from  the  hight  to  which 
he  had  wound  them,  without  impairing  the  solemnity 
and  dignity  of  his  subject,  or,  perhaps,  shocking  them 
by  the  abruptness  of  the  fall. 

9.  But  the  descent  was  as  beautiful  and  sublime,  as 
the  elevation  had  been  rapid  and  enthusiastic.  The 
first  sentence  with  which  he  broke  the  awful  silence,  was 
a  quotation  from  Rousseau  :  "  Socrates  died  like  a  phi- 
losopher, but  Jesus  Christ  like  a  God ! ! .  Never  before 
did  I  completely  understand  what  Demosthenes  meant 
by  laying  such  stress  on  delivery. 

"William  Wikt. 


LESSON  LXI. 

TRUST  IN  GOD. 

1.  Thou  art,  0  Lord,  my  only  trust 
When  friends  are  mingled  with  the  dust, 

And  all  my  loves  are  gone. 
When  earth  has  nothing  to  bestow, 
And  every  flower  is  dead  below, 

I  look  to  Thee  alone. 

2.  Thou  wilt  not  leave,  in  doubt  and  fear, 
The  humble  soul,  who  loves  to  hear 

The  lessons  of  thy  word. 
When  foes  around  us  thickly  press, 
And  all  is  danger  and  distress, 

There's  safety  in  the  Lord. 

3.  The  bosom  friend  may  sleep  below 
The  church -yard  turf,  and  we  may  go 

To  close  a  loved  one's  eyes : 


148         WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER. 

They  will  not  always  slumber  there  ; 
We  see  a  world  more  bright  and  fair, 
A  home  beyond  the  skies. 

4.  And  we  may  feel  the  bitter  dart, 
Most  keenly  rankling  in  the  heart, 

By  some  dark  ingrate  driven : 
In  us  revenge  can  never  burn  ; 
We  pity,  pardon,  then  we  turn, 

And  rest  our  souls  in  Heaven. 

5.  'Tis  Thou,  0  Lord,  who  shield 'st  my  dead, 
And  draw'st  thy  curtains  round  my  bed ; 

I  sleep  secure  in  Thee  ; 
And,  oh,  may  soon  that  time  arrive, 
When  we  before  thy  face  shall  live 

Through  all  eternity ! 


LESSON  LXII. 

THE   BANKER   AND  THE  KING. 

* 

1.  A  celebrated  banker  once  made  a  visit  to  the 
Prussian  court  to  effect  some  very  important  negotia- 
tions. During  his  absence  from  home,  the  following 
incidents  occurred,  which  he  relates  as  follows : 

2.  It  was  in  the  year  1805,  that  business  of  im- 
portance required  my  speedy  presence  at  the  Prussian 
capital.  Our  house  had  not  long  been  established,  and 
as  the  Prussian  government  wanted  money,  I  thought  it 
expedient  to  see  their  minister  myself  without  delay. 
The  journey  was  somewhat  dangerous,  as  the  state  of 
Germany  had  become  rather  precarious. 

3.  The  French  had  again  been  so  polite  as  to  pay  us, 


WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER.         149 

unasked,  a  visit,  and  were  not  likely  to  look  with  a  very- 
kind  eye  on  a  banker  who  was  hastening  to  the  seat  of 
government  to  lend  money.  However,  I  was  young, 
undaunted,  of  a  happy  flow  of  spirits,  and  cared  neither 
for  Napoleon  nor  any  of  his  adherents. 

4.  So  I  bid  Anthony,  who  is  my  witness,  to  make  him- 
self ready,  to  place  some  wine  and  a  dozen  pheasants  in 
our  chest,  and  to  take  his  seat  in  the  post-chaise.  The 
pheasants  were  intended  as  a  present  for  the  Prussian 
Finance  Minister. 

5.  Like  as  I  do  Frankfort,  my  native  city,  I  felt  highly 
delighted  when  I  arrived  at  the  frontiers  of  Saxony;  but 
my  joy  was  soon  to  give  way  to  other  sensations.  I  was 
always  fond  of  a  good  dinner  and  a  good  glass  of  wine ; 
things  which  are  rarely  to  be  met  with  in  Saxony.  It 
is  a  wretched  country,  and  their  wine  is  stuff,  compared 
to  which  our  vinegar  is  nectar. 

6.  I  had  traveled  three  days,  and  changed  horses 
fifteen  times.  My  bottling  establishment  was  nearly 
out,  when  I  found  myself  on  the  borders  of  Prussia,  a 
vast  desert  of  sand,  where  nothing  grows  but  the 
hungry  pine  and  curly-headed  children  ;  yet  still  they 
might  put  better  dinners  before  respectable  travelers. 
It  is  really  a  shame,  nothing  but  dry  veal,  potatoes,  and 
beer ! 

7.  You  may  judge,  gentlemen,  of  my  situation  by 
the  fact,  that  I  was  obliged  to  attack  the  chest,  which 
contained  the  intended  present  for  the  Prussian  Minis- 
ter, and  to  purloin  one  of  the  pheasants.  I  ordered 
Anthony  to  cook  it ;  it  was  excellent,  and  so  was  my 
last  bottle  of  rhenish.  My  appetite  being  satisfied,  I 
mounted  my  post-chaise  again,  and  proceeded  on  my 
journey.  Our  wheels  plowed  through  the  waves  of 
sand  as  deeply  as  a  three-decker  through  the  billows  of 
the  sea. 


13* 


150         WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER. 

8.  My  patience  became  at  length  exhausted,  and  be- 
ing weary  of  looking  at  the  sandy  surface,  I  fell  asleep. 
Shortly  afterward  a  terrible  shock  awakened  me.  I 
endeavored  to  look  around,  but  could  not.  My  feet  were 
fast  in  the  carriage.  I  was  near  being  killed.  In  short, 
the  axletree  of  the  chaise,  with  one  of  the  wheels,  was 
broken. 

9.  Anthony  had  fared  somewhat  better  than  1  's 
master,  and  he  relieved  me  from  my  disagreeable  situa- 
tion. Now,  gentlemen,  you  may  believe  me,  this  was 
no  joke.  There  I  was,  fifteen  miles  from  Berlin,  and 
two  from  the  next  village,  with  a  portfolio  containing 
several  hundred  thousand  dollars  in  papers,  and  no  con- 
veyance. 

10.  Presently  I  discovered  a  carriage  traveling  the 
same  road.  It  approached.  Two  gentlemen  occupied 
the  seats  :  a  footman  was  behind.  My  resolution  was 
soon  taken.  I  ordered  Anthony  to  get  my  post-chaise 
repaired,  and  to  follow  me  to  the  Brandenburg  hotel,  as 
soon  as  possible.  Thus  resolved,  I  stepped  toward  the 
carriage,  which  had  now  come  up  to  us. 

11.  "Gentlemen,"  said  I,  lifting  my  hat  civily,  "will 
you  be  so  good  as  to  afford  a  traveler,  whose  chaise  you 
see  is  broken,  a  seat  in  your  carriage  ?"  "  Certainly," 
said  the  younger ;  "  please  to  step  in." 

12.  I  did  so.  The  first  minutes  were  passed  in  sur- 
veying the  strangers,  with  whom  my  happy  or  unhappy 
stars,  I  knew  not  which,  had  brought  me  in  contact.  I 
was  in  a  military  country,  and  I  was  soon  convinced 
that  my  new  companions  were  military  men. 

13.  The  complaisance  of  these  strangers  soon  re- 
stored me  to  my  former  good  humor ;  and  thinking  it 
my  duty  to  meet  their  politeness  by  similar  advances,  I 
began  to  enter  into  something  like  conversation  with 
them ;  they,  however,  were  not  the  most  talkative  per- 


WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER.  151 

sons  in  the  world.  I  spoke  of  the  war  which  was  raging 
between  France  and  Austria,  but  I  received  only  a  nod. 
I  went  over  the  prospects  of  Prussia — no  answer  at  all ; 
the  old  gentleman  was  as  dry  as  a  chip,  the  young  one 
as  shy  as  a  lark. 

14.  I  hate  sullenness,  especially  in  young  men,  and 
thinking  my  subjects  were  perhaps  disagreeable,  I 
changed  them  to  the  state  of  the  country.  I  was  not 
very  lavish  of  my  praise,  and  censured  the  government 
for  not  repairing  the  roads  ;  both  gentlemen  were  ex- 
tremely attentive,  but  still  more  reserved.  I  had  now 
tried  every  means  to  bring  them  into  conversation.  At 
last  I  spoke  of  my  fare,  and  of  the  miserable  dinners 
provided  for  travelers.     They  smiled. 

15.  "What  do  you  think,  sir,"  said  I,  addressing  the 
young  man,  "  I  have  dined  upon  ?"  A  pheasant  I  knew 
he  never  would  guess.  "  I  do  not  know,  sir."  "  Well, 
guess  then,"  said  I.  The  young  man  looked  significantly, 
and  entering  into  my  humor,  returned,  "  1  do  not  know, 
indeed  ;  perhaps  a  shoulder  of  mutton  ?" 

16.  My  hand  fell  involuntarily  on  his  knee.  "Higher," 
said  I.  "  Well,  then,  perhaps  you  have  dined  on  a  goose  ?" 
"  Higher,"  replied  I,  placing  my  hand  a  second  time  on 
his  knee.  "  Then  it  was  a  chicken,"  said  he.  "  Higher," 
replied  I,  accompanying  my  word  with  a  third  slap. 
"  You  have  not,  surely,  dined  on  a  turkey  in  so  poor  a 
country  ?"  "  Higher,  sir,"  returned  I,  striking  him  for 
the  fourth  time  on  his  knee.  "  Well,  then,  it  must  have 
been  a  pheasant." 

17.  "You  have  hit  it,  sir;  a  pheasant  brought  from 
Frankfort ;  and  if  you  will  do  me  the  honor  of  being  my 
guests  at  the  Brandenburg  hotel,  you  shall  dine  on  pheas- 
ants too."  Neither  promised  to  come,  but  both  smiled. 
After  this  dialogue,  we  rode  several  miles  without  speak- 
ing a  single  word,  when  the  young  man,  in  quite  a  friendly 


152         WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER. 


tone,  said,  "  Now,  sir,  to  ask  you  a  question :  whom  do 
you  think  you  ride  with  ?" 

18.  This  question  was  put  in  the  usual  brisk  tone  of 
a  Prussian  officer.  I  looked  at  the  stranger  a  moment ; 
he  was  about  my  age,  but  much  taller.  His  dress  was 
a  plain  surtout,  and  his  head  was  covered  with  a  woolen 
cap  strongly  set  in  leather,  with  a  narrow  gold  brim. 
He  had  a  good  deal  of  the  military  cast.  "  Well,"  said 
I,  "  I  think  I  have  the  pleasure  of  being  in  company  with 
a  military  gentleman — a  captain  ?"  added  I,  askingly. 

19.  "  Higher,"  said  the  young  man,  striking  me  in  his 
turn  on  the  knee.  The  old  gentleman  now  began  to 
laugh.  "  A  major,  then  ?"  said  I.  "  Higher,"  repeated 
he,  slapping  me  a  second  time.  He  understands  a  joke, 
thought  I.  "  So  young,  and  already  a  colonel  ?"  "  High- 
er," said  he  again,  with  a  fourth  slap.  He  is  getiing 
impudent,  thought  I.  I  looked  confounded  at  his  assur- 
ance. "  Then  I  have  the  honor  to  be  in  company  with 
a  general,"  said  I,  with  a  sarcastic  incredulity.  "  High- 
er," he  still  replied,  with  another  slap. 

20.  This,  I  thought,  isthe  most  impudent  fellow  I  ever 
met  with ;  and  giving  vent  to  my  impatience,  I  said, 
"  Then  you  are  a  field  marshal  ?" 

21.  We  were  by  this  time  before  the  Brandenburg 
gate.  I  was  fully  persuaded  that  I  was  treated  as  a 
dupe  by  my  companions.  The  young  man's  higher, 
had  so  confounded  me,  that  I  was  thunderstruck,  when 
the  hats  flew  off  in  every  direction.  Officers  and  sol- 
diers rushed  from  the  guard-house  to  their  muskets,  the 
drums  were  beating,  the  arms  presenting,  a  number  of 
carriages  passed  through  the  gate,  and,  in  the  confusion 
of  the  crowd,  thronging  from  every  side,  I  looked  for 
the  royal  personage,  to  whom  all  these  honors  were 
paid.  Our  carriage  whirled  fast  toward  the  Branden- 
burg hotel. 


WEBB'S  FOUBTH  EEADER.         153 

22.  Where  do  you  wish  to  alight  ?"  said  the  young 
gentleman.  "  At  the  Brandenburg  hotel,  if  you  please," 
was  my  answer.  "  There  it  is,"  said  he.  I  leaped  from 
the  carriage,  took  my  portfolio,  and  bowing,  requested 
the  pleasure  of  their  seeing  me  at  dinner.  *  You  shall 
see  us,"  said  the  younger,  and  off  they  went. 

23.  The  landlord  and  waiters  of  the  hotel  rushed 
toward  me  as  I  entered  the  gate,  bowing  to  the  ground. 
The  former  addressed  me  by  the  title  of  highness.  *4My 

name,"  said  I,  "  is  P ,  banker,  from  Frankfort.     Do 

you  know  the  gentleman  with  whom  I  arrived  ?"  "Gen- 
tleman," repeated  the  landlord,  significantly,  "  it  was  the 
king."  "  A  good  joke,"  said  I ;  "  the  young  fellow  was 
near  telling  me  so  himself." 

24.  "Beg  your  pardon,  banker,"  said  the  landlord, 
"  but  please  to  use  other  terms  when  you  speak  of  his 
majesty."  "  You  are  not  in  earnest  ?"  said  I.  "  But  I 
am  though ;  it  is  the  king."  The  waiters,  and  fifty  other 
persons  who  had  assembled  around  me,  pledged  them- 
selves for  the  truth  of  what  the  landlord  had  spoken. 
There  was  now  no  doubt ;  it  was  the  king  with  whom 
I  had  made  so  free !     . 

25.  I  am  a  republican,  and  not  afraid  of  any  king  in 
Christendom,  yet  the  affair  might  have  become  a  serious 
one.  I  had  dropped  expressions  which  I  might  have 
kept  more  wisely  to  myself.  How  would  he  take 
these  things  ?  What  might  he  think  of  me  ? — were 
thoughts  which  kept  me  awake  for  the  greater  part  of 
the  night. 

26.  The  next  morning  I  began  the  rounds  of  my  visits. 
I  found  the  finance  minister  extremely  tough.  When  I 
returned  home,  the  landlord  informed  me,  that  a  royal 
page  had  been  at  the  hotel,  and  summoned  the  banker 
P to  the  castle. 

27.  Well,  thought  I,  nothing  can  happen  worse  than 


154         WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER. 

hanging,  and  throwing  myself  into  a  hackney-coach,  I 
roiled  toward  the  royal  residence  of  the  king.  The 
appointed  hour  was  five.  I  was  conducted  through 
numberless  guards  into  the  royal  apartments.  When 
the  last  door  opened,  I  beheld  my  young  traveling  com- 
panion seated  on  an  ottoman ;  on  his  right  side  was  a 
most  beautiful  lady ;  two  boys  and  as  many  girls  were 
playing  in  the  chamber. 

28.  A  king,  thought  I,  who  can  enjoy  domestic  hap- 
piness, can  not  be  a  tyrant,  and  I  stepped  resolutely 
forward.  "  This,  dear  Louise/'  said  his  majesty,  "  is 
the  banker,  who  so  agreeably  entertained  me  yester- 
day."    "  Banker  P ,"  said  the  lovely  queen,  "  we 

hope  you  will  take  a  better  opinion  of  our  country  home 
with  you."  She  stretched  out  her  hand,  and  I  was  per- 
mitted todriss  it. 

29.  Nor  was  this  all.  I  had  to  tell  my  whole  adven- 
ture over :  I,  however,  omitted  the  slapping  on  the 
knee.  In  short,  I  spent  the  most  agreeable  hour  in  my 
life. 

30.  The  following  day,  I  concluded  my  money  busi- 
ness. The  royal  condescension  had  rather  too  much 
captivated  the  otherwise  cool  banker :  I  entered  some- 
what deeply  into  Prussian  money  matters — so  deeply, 
that  his  royal  majesty,  twelve  months  afterward,  had 
well-nigh  ruined  me.  I  do  not  know  whether  I  would 
not  have  forgiven  him  for  the  sake  of  this  hour.  How- 
ever, Frederic  William  has  since  honestly  paid  me  both 
debt  and  interest. 


WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER.         155 


LESSON  LXIII. 
Antony's  oration  over  c^esar's  body. 

1.  Friends,  Romans,  countrymen,  lend  me  your  ears  : 
I  come  to  bury  Caesar,  not  to  praise  him. 

The  evil  that  men  do,  lives  after  them ; 
The  good  is  oft  interred  with  their  bones  : 
So  let  it  be  with  Caesar.     The  noble  Brutus 
Hath  told  you,  Caesar  was  ambitious  : 
If  it  were  so,  it  was  a  grievous  fault ; 
And  grievously  hath  Caesar  answer'd  it. 

2.  Here,  under  leave  of  Brutus,  and  the  rest, 
(For  Brutus  is  an  honorable  man ; 

So  are  they  all ;  all  honorable  men), 
Come  I  to  speak  at  Caesar's  funeral. 
He  was  my  friend,  faithful  and  just  to  me : 
But  Brutus  says  he  was  ambitious  ; 
And  Brutus  is  an  honorable  man, 

3.  He  hath  brought  many  captives  home  to  Rome, 
Whose  ransoms  did  the  general  coffers  fill : 
Did  this  in  Caesar  seem  ambitious  ? 

When  that  the  poor  have  cried,  Caesar  hath  wept ; 
Ambition  should  be  made  of  sterner  stuff ; 
Yet  Brutus  says  he  was  ambitious ; 
And  Brutus  is  an  honorable  man, 

4.  You  all  did  see,  that  on  the  Lupercal, 
I  thrice  presented  him  a  kingly  crown, 

Which  he  did  thrice  refuse.     Was  this  ambition  ? 

Yet  Brutus  says  he  was  ambitious ; 

And  sure,  he  is  an  honorable  man. 

I  speak  not  to  disprove  what  Brutus  spoke ; 

But  here  I  am  to  speak  what  I  do  know. 


156         WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER. 

5.  You  all  did  love  him  once,  not  without  cause ; 
What  cause  withholds  you  then  to  mourn  for  him  ? 
O  judgment,  thou  art  fled  to  brutish  beasts, 

And  men  have  lost  their  reason  ! — Bear  with  me ; 
My  heart  is  in  the  coffin  there  with  Caesar, 
And  I  must  pause  till  it  come  back  to  me. 

6.  But  yesterday,  the  word  of  Caesar  might 

Have  stood  against  the  world  :  now  lies  he  there, 
And  none  so  poor  to  do  him  reverence. 

0  masters !  if  I  were  disposed  to  stir 
Your  hearts  and  minds  to  mutiny  and  rage, 

1  should  do  Brutus  wrong,  and  Cassius  wrong, 
Who,  you  all  know,  are  honorable  men  ; 

I  will  not  do  them  wrong ;  I  rather  choose 
To  wrong  the  dead,  to  wrong  myself,  and  you, 
Than  I  will  wrong  such  honorable  men. 

7.  But  here's  a  parchment,  with  the  seal  of  Caesar, 
I  found  it  in  his  closet,  'tis  his  will ; 

Let  but  the  commons  hear  this  testament 
(Which,  pardon  me,  I  do  not  mean  to  read), 
And  they  would  go  and  kiss  dead  Caesar's  wounds, 
And  dip  their  napkins  in  his  sacred  blood  ; 
Yea,  beg  a  hair  of  him  for  memory, 
And,  dying,  mention  it  within  their  wills, 
Bequeathing  it  as  a  rich  legacy 
Unto  their  issue. 

8.  If  you  have  tears,  prepare  to  shed  them  now. 
You  all  do  know  this  mantle ;  I  remember 
The  first  time  ever  Caesar  put  it  on ; 

'Twas  on  a  summer's  evening,  in  his  tent ; 
That  day  he  overcame  the  Nervii. — 
Look  !  in  this  place,  ran  Cassius'  dagger  through  • 
See  !  what  a  rent  the  envious  Casca  made  ; 
Through  this,  the  well-beloved  Brutus  stabb'd ; 


WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER.         157 

And,  as  he  pluck'd  his  cursed  steel  away, 
Mark  how  the  blood  of  Caesar  followed  it. 

9.  This  was  the  most  unkindest  cut  of  all ; 
For  when  the  noble  Caesar  saw  him  stab, 
Ingratitude,  more  strong  than  traitor's  arms, 
Quite  vanquished  him ;  then  burst  his  mighty  heart ; 
And,  in  his  mantle  muffling  up  his  face, 
Even  at  the  base  of  Pompey's  statue, 
Which  all  the  while  ran  blood,  great  Caesar  fell 

10.  0,  what  a  fall  was  there,  my  countrymen  ! 
Then  I,  and  you,  and  all  of  us  fell  down, 
Whilst  bloody  treason  flourish'd  over  us.  . 
0,  now  you  weep ;  and,  I  perceive,  you  feel 
The  dint  of  pity  ;  these  are  gracious  drops. 

Kind  souls,  what !  weep  you,  when  you  but  behold 
Our  Caesar's  vesture  wounded  ?     Look  you  here ! 
Here  is  himself,  marr'd,  as  you  see,  by  traitors. 

11.  Good  friends,  sweet  friends,  let  me  not  stir  you  up 
To  such  a  sudden  flood  of  mutiny. 

They  that  have  done  this  deed  are  honorable ; 
What  private  griefs  they  have,  alas  !  I  know  not, 
That  made  them  do  it ;  they  were  wise  and  honorable, 
And  will,  no  doubt,  with  reason  answer  you. 

12.  I  come  not,  friends,  to  steal  away  your  hearts ; 
I  am  no  orator,  as  Brutus  is ; 

But  as  you  know  me  all,  a  plain,  blunt  man, 

That  love  my  friend  ;  and  that  they  know  full  well, 

That  gave  me  public  leave  to  speak  of  him. 

13.  For  I  have  neither  wit,  nor  words,  nor  worth, 
Action,  nor  utterance,  nor  power  of  speech, 
To  stir  men's  blood  ;  I  only  speak  right  on  : 

I  tell  you  that,  which  you  yourselves  do  know  ; 


14 


158  WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER. 

Show  you  sweet  Caesar's  wounds,  poor,  poor  dumb  mouths, 

And  bid  them  speak  for  me.     But  were  I  Brutus, 

And  Brutus  Antony,  there  were  an  Antony 

Would  ruffle  up  your  spirits,  and  put  a  tongue 

In  every  wound  of  Caesar,  that  should  move 

The  stones  of  Rome  to  rise  and  mutiny. 

SH4UPEARB. 


LESSON  LXIV. 


POWER  OF  MATERNAL  PIETY. 


1.  "When  I  was  a  little  child,"  said  a  good  old  man, 
"my  mother  used  to  bid  me  kneel  beside  her,  and  then  she 
would  place  her  hand  upon  my  head,  while  she  prayed. 
Before  I  was  old  enough  to  know  her  worth,  she  died, 
and  I  was  left  too  much  to  my  own  guidance.  Like  oth- 
ers, I  was  inclined  to  evil,  but  often  felt  myself  checked, 
and,  as  it  were,  drawn  back  by  a  soft  hand  upon  my  head. 

2.  "  When  a  young  man,  I  traveled  in  foreign  lands, 
and  was  exposed  to  many  temptations ;  but  when  I  would 
have  yielded,  that  same  hand  was  upon  my  head,  and  I 
was  saved.  I  seemed  to  feel  its  pressure  as  in  the  days 
of  my  happy  infancy,  and  sometimes  there  came  with 
it  a  voice  in  my  heart,  a  voice  that  must  be  obeyed — 
'  O,  do  not  this  wickedness,  my  son,  nor  sin  against  thy 
God.' " 

3.  Why  gaze  ye  on  my  hoary  hairs, 
Ye  children,  young  and  gay  ? 
Your  locks,  beneath  the  blast  of  cares, 
Will  bleach  as  white  as  they. 


WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER.         159 

4.  I  had  a  mother  once,  like  you, 

Who  o'er  my  pillow  hung, 
Kissed  from  my  cheek  the  briny  dew, 
And  taught  my  faltering  tongue. 

5.  She,  when  the  nightly  couch  was  spread, 

Would  bow  my  infant  knee, 
And  place  her  hand  upon  my  head, 
And,  kneeling,  pray  for  me. 

6.  But,  then,  there  came  a  fearful  day ; 

I  sought  my  mother's  bed, 
Till  harsh  hands  tore  me  thence  away, 
And  told  me  she  was  dead. 

7.  I  plucked  a  fair  white  rose,  and  stole 

To  lay  it  by  her  side, 
And  thought  strange  sleep  enchained  her  soul, 
For  no  fond  voice  replied. 

8.  That  eye,  I  knelt  me  down  in  woe, 

And  said  a  lonely  prayer ; 
Yet  still  my  temples  seemed  to  glow, 
As  if  that  hand  was  there. 

9.  Years  fled,  and  left  me  childhood's  joy, 

Gay  sports  and  pastimes  dear ; 
I  rose  a  wild  and  wayward  boy, 
Who  scorned  the  curb  of  fear. 

10.  Fierce  passions  shook  me  like  a  reed  ; 

Yet,  ere  at  night  I  slept, 
That  soft  hand  made  my  bosom  bleed 
And  down  I  fell  and  wept. 

11.  Youth  came — the  props  of  virtue  reeled  ; 

But  oft,  at  day's  decline, 
A  marble  touch  my  brow  congealed — 
Blest  mother,  was  it  thine  ? 


160 

WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER. 

12. 

In  foreign  lands  I  traveled  wide, 
My  pulse  was  bounding  high, 

Vice  spread  her  meshes  at  ray  side, 
And  pleasure  lured  my  eye  ; — 

13. 

Yet  still  that  hand,  so  soft  and  cold, 
Maintained  its  mystic  sway, 

As  when,  amid  my  curls  of  gold, 
With  gentle  force  it  lay. 

14. 

And  with  it  breathed  a  voice  of  care, 

As  from  the  lowly  sod, 
"  My  son — my  only  one — beware  ! 

Nor  sin  against  thy  God." 

15. 

Ye  think,  perchance,  that  age  hath  stole 

My  kindly  warmth  away, 
And  dimmed  the  tablet  of  the  soul ; — 

Yet,  when,  with  lordly  sway, 

16. 

This  brow  the  plumed  helm  displayed, 
That  guides  the  warrior  throng, 

Or  beauty's  thrilling  fingers  strayed 
These  manly  locks  among, — 

17. 

That  hallowed  touch  was  ne'er  forgot ! — 
And  now,  though  time  hath  set 

His  frosty  seal  upon  my  lot, 
These  temples  feel  it  yet. 

18. 

And  if  I  e'er  in  heaven  appear, 

A  mother's  holy  prayer, 
A  mother's  hand,  and  gentle  tear, 
That  pointed  to  a  Savior  dear, 
Have  led  the  wanderer  there. 

WEBB'S  FOUBTH  BEADEB.         161 


LESSON  LXV. 

THOUGHTS    FOR    YOUNG    MEN. 

1.  Read,  and,  when  you  have  read,  think  over  what 
has  been  before  your  outward  eyes.  Thinking  has  a 
great  influence  on  the  mind's  eye.  Just  in  the  same 
manner  by  which  a  close  observer  of  men  and  nature 
will  discover  ten  thousand  objects  which  one  who  glances 
superficially  at  things  will  never  perceive,  so  will  one 
who  thinks  discern,  with  the  keen  eye  of  reason,  a  thou- 
sand beauties,  and  truths,  and  gems,  which  the  mere  sur- 
face-skimmer will  never  know. 

2.  We  have  been  asked  by  young  men,  "  Where  shall 
I  begin  ?  I  have  never  pursued  any  one  thing,  and  I  do 
not  know  what  to  begin  with."  We  generally  reply, 
Begin  at  your  own  Heart — Learn  to  Think.  If  you 
read  even  an  ordinary  newspaper — if  it  is  worth  having 
at  all — it  will  contain  something  worth  remembering :  a 
fact  in  history — an  occurrence  of  the  present  day — a 
scientific  discovery — a  stray  maxim — a  remarkable  phe- 
nomenon— a  record  of  passing  events. 

3.  Select  the  valuable,  and  treasure  them  up  for  future 
use ;  you  do  not  know  of  what  value  they  may  be  to  you 
at  some  time.  And,  while  endeavoring  to  practice  these 
teachings  ourselves,  we  have  frequently  regretted  the 
loss  of  some  fact  or  narrative  which  would  serve  as  a 
most  apposite  illustration  of  our  argument.  Read,  we 
say  ;  read  any  thing  ;  read  every  thing  which  will  com- 
pensate the  mind  for  its  labor ;  but  no  not  read  the 
flimsy  trash  and  injurious  creations  of  the  novelist  or  the 
libertine. 

4.  Shun  the  meretricious  follies  of  romance,  and  you 
will  find  in  the  truthful  narratives  of  history,  and  dis- 

14* 


162  WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER. 

coveries  and  adventures  of  explorers,  more  of  romance 
and  truth  than  ever  embellished  the  morbid  creations  of 
the  novelist.  Read  and  think,  and  soon,  if  you  have  a 
mind,  that  mind  will  develop  its  particular  bent,  and 
the  sublime  hights  of  mathematics,  the  varied  and  lovely 
field  of  the  botanist,  the  strong,  practical  teachings  of 
physics  and  natural  science,  the  open  realm  of  chemical 
investigation,  or  the  delightful  walks  of  literature,  will 
each  fall,  in  turn,  into  the  pathway  of  its  chosen  wor- 
shipers. 

5.  Aim  high  !  There  is  nothing  gained  by  setting  up 
a  low  standard  of  attainment.  If  a  man  is  determined 
to  reach  the  top  of  the  ladder,  he  will  doubtless  find  him- 
self much  nearer  to  it  than  if  he  were  to  say,  "  I  can 
not  do  that !"  and  rest  at  or  near  the  bottom.  Do  not 
be  ashamed  to  let  others  know  you  are  looking  forward 
to  great  things.  They  may  laugh  at  you  for  your  te- 
merity, and,  if  you  are  humble  in  position,  they  may 
sneer  at  you  for  your  pains.  Sneers  are  cheap  with 
narrow  souls.  You  may  set  down  all  such  as  being 
essentially  hopeless  themselves.  A  noble-minded  man 
will  always  encourage,  and,  if  possible,  assist. 

6.  Let  your  failure  not  be  based  upon  the  mocks  and 
sneers  of  craven-spirited  companions  :  let  your  triumph 
be  built  upon  the  plaudits  of  the  wise  and  the  generous. 
There  is  no  object  to  be  gained  by  contenting  one's  self 
with  small  attainments.  If  knowledge,  or  wealth,  or 
reputation,  are  desirable,  they  are  desirable  in  the  high- 
est degree,  if  they  are  properly  improved  ;  and  we  would 
say  to  all,  attain  all  three — attain  all  you  can,  and  that 
in  the  greatest  amount ;  and,  having  attained,  use  them 
with  wisdom  and  discrimination.  Do  not  stand  still, 
and  say  you  have  no  capital,  or  no  talent,  or  no  friends. 
Firmness  of  purpose  and  integrity  of  character,  perse- 
verance, and  industry,  will  be  rewarded. 


WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER.         163 

7.  Take  the  first  step  !  If  you  are  ever  to  be  any 
thing,  you  must  make  a  beginning ;  and  you  must  make 
it  yourself.  The  world  is  getting  to  be  too  practical  to 
help  drones  and  push  them  along,  when  there  is  a  busy 
hive  of  workers,  who,  if  any  thing,  live  too  fast.  You 
must  lift  your  own  feet ;  and  if  you  have  a  pair  of  clogs 
on,  which  clatter  about  your  heels,  they  will  soon  be 
worn  off,  and  left  behind  on  the  dusty  pathway.  Mark 
out  the  line  which  you  prefer ;  let  Truth  be  the  object- 
glass,  Honesty  the  surveying-chain,  and  Eminence  the 
level  with  which  you  lay  out  your  field ;  and,  thus  pre- 
pared, with  Prudence  on  one  arm,  and  Perseverance  on 
the  other,  you  need  fear  no  obstacle. 

8.  Do  not  be  afraid  to  take  the  first  step.  Boldness 
will  beget  assurance,  and  the  first  step  will  bring  you  so 
much  nearer  the  second.  But  if  your  first  step  should 
break  down,  try  again.  It  will  be  surer  and  safer  by 
the  trial.  Besides,  if  you  never  move,  you  will  never 
know  your  own  power.  A  man  standing  still,  declaring 
his  inability  to  walk,  without  making  the  effort,  would 
be  a  general  laughing-stock;  and  so,  morally,  is  the  man, 
in  our  opinion,  who  will  not  test  his  own  moral  or  intel- 
lectual power,  and  then  gravely  assure  us  he  has  "  no 
genius,"  or  "  no  talent,"  or  "no  capacity."  A  man  with 
seeing  eyes  keeping  them  shut,  and  complaining  that  he 
can  not  see!     The  trumpeter  of  his  own  imbecility! 

9.  Cultivate  largeness  of  soul  !  Selfishness  is  too 
common  in  our  world.  We  do  not  feel  that  our  neigh- 
bor has  a  claim  upon  us,  and  we  have  a  claim  upon  him. 
We  are  all  sensitive  enough  about  our  own  interests, 
but  blind  to  those  of  others  ;  and  if  we  all  knew  and  felt 
the  mutual  relationship  by  which  society  is  interwoven, 
and  could  recognize  the  nearness  of  interest  which 
exists  between  us,  human  society  would  be  unlike  what 
it  is  at  present. 


164  WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER. 

10.  Be  generous  to  all  around  you ;  the  example  will 
have  a  reflex  power,  and,  at  some  future  time,  it  may 
tell  powerfully  upon  your  own  life.  Let  the  influence 
of  your  whole  soul  be  felt  in  favor  of  a  noble  benefi- 
cence. Deal  justly  ;  but  whenever  occasion  offers,  do 
not  be  backward  to  assist  the  deserving.  It  matters  not 
that  you  never  received  such  assistance — it  would  have 
been  like  water  to  your  thirsty  soul ;  and  when  it  is  in 
your  power,  give  it  to  another.  Your  good  deeds  may 
tell  on  a  coming  generation. 

11.  The  man  and  woman  who  tossed  coppers  to  the 
poor  singing  student  in  the  streets  of  Erfurt,  had  little 
thought  they  were  aiding  him  who  should  be  the  agent 
in  sending  a  thunderbolt  into  the  Vatican  which  should 
shiver  the  foundations  of  the  Papal  throne,  and  rend  the 
night  of  despotism  and  gloom.  When  a  faithful  Sunday- 
school  teacher  invited  the  ragged  Sabbath-breaker  into 
the  Sunday-school,  and  gave  him  a  decent  garment,  he 
little  thought  that  he  was  laying  the  train  by  which  the 
millions  of  China  would  receive  the  Bible,  through  the 
hands  of  a  Morrison. 

12.  And  when  George  House,  of  whom  Franklin 
speaks  in  his  personal  narrative,  brought  the  "country- 
man his  five  shillings,"  he  knew  not  that  the  printer  was 
only  the  early  development  of  one  of  the  greatest  phi- 
losophers of  modern  times.  Be  noble — be  generous — 
and  you  may  live  to  know  that  you  t^ve  cheered 
another  Franklin,  and  multiplied  your  influence  as  did 
George  House,  in  his  hands  ;  for,  as  Franklin  observes, 
the  gratitude  he  felt  toward  House  often  made  him 
more  ready  than  perhaps  he  would  otherwise  have  been 
to  assist  young  beginners. 

13.  Do  not  gtve  up  for  TRIFLES !  If  your  object  be 
grand,  only  grand  difficulties  should  be  heeded — trifling 
hindrances  should  not  stand  in  the  way  any  more  than 


WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER.         165 

a  pebble  before  a  triumphal  car.  The  strong  and  reso- 
lute surmount  all  difficulties  ;  and  though  their  success 
may  not  be  brilliant,  they  will  die  in  full  confidence  that 
their  works  will  live.  Like  John  Fitch,  when  he  said 
he  would  "repose  where  the  song  of  the  boatman  would 
enliven  the  stillness  of  his  resting-place,  and  the  noise  of 
the  steam-engine  sooth  his  spirit !"  let  the  resolve  be  to 
bequeath,  at  least,  an  example  of  perseverance  and  use- 
fulness, if  no  very  great  achievement,  to  the  coming 
generation. 

14.  Do  not  stand  still  !  If  you  do,  you  will  be  run 
over.  Motion — action — progress  :  these  are  the  words 
which  now  fill  the  vault  of  heaven  with  their  stirring 
demands,  and  make  humanity's  heart  pulsate  with  a 
stronger  bound.  Advance,  or  stand  aside  ;  do  not  block 
up  the  way,  and  hinder  the  career  of  others :  there  is 
too  much  to  do  now  to  allow  of  inaction  anywhere  in 
any  one. 

15.  There  is  something  for  all  to  do ;  the  world  is 
becoming  more  and  more  known ;  wider  in  magnitude, 
closer  in  intercourse,  more  nearly  allied  in  interest, 
more  loving,  and  more  eventful  than  of  old :  not  in 
deeds  of  carnage  ;  not  in  the  ensanguined  field  ;  not  in 
chains  and  terrors  ;  not  in  blood,  and  tears,  and  gloom  ; 
but  in  the  leaping,  vivifying,  exhilarating  impulses  of  a 
better  birth  of  the  soul.  Young  man  !  are  you  doing 
your  part  in  this  work  ?  Wk.  0land  Bourne 

3.  Ap'  po  site,  suitable. 

4.  Mer  e  tri'  cious,  gaudy  ;  false;   alluring  by  false  thaw. 

5.  Te  mer'  i  ty,  boldness. 

6.  Cra/  ven,  a  coward. 

11.  Vat'  i  can,  the  church  of  St.  Peter's,  in  Borne. 
13.  Tri  »mph'  al,  celebrating  victory. 
15.  En  san'  guined,  stained  with  blood. 


166         WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER. 


LESSON   LXVI. 

THE      FAMILY      MEETING. 

We  are  all  here ! 

Father,  mother, 

Sister,  brother — 
All  who  hold  each  other  dear. 
Each  chair  is  filled — we're  all  at  home  ! 
To-night  let  no  cold  stranger  come  ; 
It  is  not  often  thus  around 
Our  old  familiar  hearth  we're  found  : 
Bless,  then,  the  meeting  and  the  spot ; 
For  once  be  every  care  forgot ; 
Let  gentle  peace  assert  her  power, 
And  kind  affection  rule  the  hour  ; — 

We're  all— all  here  ! 

We  are  all  here ! 
Even  they,  the  dead — though  dead,  so  dear ! 
Fond  Memory,  to  her  duty  true, 
Brings  back  their  faded  forms  to  view. 
How  life-like,  through  the  mist  of  years, 
Each  well-remembered  face  appears ! 
We  see  them,  as  in  times  long  past; 
From  each  to  each  kind  looks  are  cast; 
We  hear  their  words,  their  smiles  behold — 
They're  round  us  as  they  were  of  old ; — 

We  are  all  here  ! 

We  are  all  here  ! 

Father,  mother, 

Sister,  brother ; 
You  that  I  love  with  love  so  dear. 
This  may  not  long  of  us  be  said — 
Soon  must  we  join  the  gathered  dead ; 


WEBB'S  FOURTH  HEADER.         167 

And  by  the  hearth  we  now  sit  round, 
Some  other  circle  will  be  found. 
0,  then  that  wisdom  may  we  know, 
Which  yields  a  life  of  peace  below ; 
So  in  the  world  to  follow  this, 
May  each  repeat,  in  words  of  bliss, 
We're  all — all  here  ! 

Charles  Sprague. 


LESSON  LXiVII. 

SHAKING  HANDS. 

1.  There  are  few  things  of  more  common  occurrence 
than  shaking  hands  ;  and  yet  I  do  not  recollect  that 
there  has  been  much  speculation  upon  the  subject.  I 
confess,  when  I  consider  to  what  unimportant  and  futile 
concerns  the  attention  of  writers  and  readers  has  been 
directed,  I  am  surprised  that  no  one  has  been  found  to 
handle  so  important  a  matter  as  this,  and  attempt  to  give 
the  public  a  rational  view  of  the  doctrine  and  discipline 
of  shaking  hands. 

2.  It  is  a  theme  on  which  I  have  myself  theorized  con- 
siderable ;  and  I  beg  leave  to  offer  a  few  remarks  on  the 
origin  of  the  practice,  and  the  various  forms  in  which  it 
is  exercised. 

3.  I  have  been  unable  to  find  in  the  ancient  writers 
any  distinct  mention  of  shaking  hands.  They  followed 
the  heartier  practice  of  hugging  or  embracing,  which 
has  not  wholly  disappeared  among  grown  persons  in 
Europe,  and  children  in  our  own  country,  and  has  un- 
questionably the  advantage  on  the  score  of  cordiality. 
When  the  ancients  trusted  the  business  of  salutation  to 
the  hands  alone,  they  joined  but  did  not  shake  them. 

4.  I  am  inclined  to  think  that  the  practice  grew  up 


168  WEBB'S  FOURTII  READER. 

in  the  ages  of  chivalry,  when  the  cumbrous  iron  mail, 
in  which  the  knights  were  cased,  prevented  their  em- 
bracing; and  when,  with  fingers  clothed  in  steel,  the 
simple  touch  or  joining  of  the  hands  would  have  been 
but  cold  welcome ;  so  that  a  prolonged  junction  was  a 
natural  resort,  to  express  cordiality ;  and,  as  it  would 
have  been  awkward  to  keep  the  hands  unemployed  in 
this  position,  a  gentle  agitation  or  shaking  might  have 
been  naturally  introduced. 

5.  How  long  the  practice  may  have  remained  in  this 
incipient  stage,  it  is  impossible,  in  the  silence  of  history, 
to  say  ;  nor  is  there  any  thing  in  the  Chronicles,  in 
Philip  de  Comines,  or  the  Byzantine  historians,  which 
enables  us  to  trace  the  progress  of  the  art  into  the  forms 
in  which  it  now  exists  among  us.  Without,  therefore, 
availing  myself  of  the  privilege  of  theorists  to  supply- 
by  conjecture  the  absence  of  history  or  tradition,  I  shall 
pass  immediately  to  the  enumeration  of  these  forms. 

6.  The  pump-handle  shake  is  the  first  which  deserves 
notice.  It  is  executed  by  taking  your  friend's  hand 
and  working  it  up  and  down,  through  an  arc  of  fifty 
degrees,  for  about  a  minute  and  a  half.  To  have  its 
nature,  force,  and  character,  this  shake  should  be  per- 
formed with  a  fair,  steady  motion.  No  attempt  should 
be  made  to  give  it  grace,  and  still  less  vivacity ;  as  the 
few  instances  in  which  the  latter  has  been  tried  have 
uniformly  resulted  in  dislocating  the  shoulder  of  the 
person  on  whom  it  has  been  attempted. 

7.  On  the  contrary,  persons  who  are  partial  to  the 
pump-handle  shake  should  be  at  some  pains  to  give  an 
equable,  tranquil  movement  to  the  operation,  which 
should  on  no  account  be  continued  after  perspiration 
on  the  part  of  your  friend  has  commenced. 

8.  The  pendulum  shake  may  be  mentioned  next,  as 
being  somewhat  similar  in  character ;  but  moving,  as 


WEBB'S  FOURTH  HEADER.         169 

the  name  indicates,  in  a  horizontal,  instead  of  a  perpen- 
dicular direction.  It  is  executed  by  sweeping  your 
hand  horizontally  toward  your  friend's,  and,  after  the 
junction  is  effected,  rowing  with  it  from  one  side  to  the 
other,  according  to  the  pleasure  of  the  parties. 

9.  The  only  caution  in  its  use,  wrhich  needs  particu- 
larly to  be  given,  is  not  to  insist  on  performing  it  in  a 
plane,  strictly  parallel  to  the  horizon,  when  you  meet 
with  a  person  who  has  been  educated  to  the  pump- 
handle  shake.  It  is  well  known  that  people  cling  to  the 
forms  in  which  they  have  been  educated,  even  when  the 
substance  is  sacrificed  in  adhering  to  them. 

10.  I  had  two  acquaintances,  both  estimable  men,  one 
of  whom  had  been  brought  up  in  the  pump-handle  shake, 
and  the  other  had  brought  home  the  pendulum  from  a 
foreign  voyage.  They  met,  joined  hands,  and  attempted 
to  put  them  in  motion.  They  were  neither  of  them 
feeble  men.  One  endeavoring  to  pump,  and  the  other 
to  paddle,  their  faces  reddened  ;  the  drops  stood  on  their 
foreheads ;  and  it  was  at  last  a  pleasing  illustration  of 
the  doctrine  of  the  composition  of  forces  to  see  their 
hands  slanting  into  an  exact  diagonal,  in  which  line 
they  ever  after  shook.  But  it  was  plain  to  see  there 
was  no  cordiality  in  it ;  and,  as  is  usually  the  case  with 
compromises,  both  parties  were  discontented. 

11.  The  tournequet  shake  is  the  next  in  importance. 
It  takes  its  name  from  the  instrument  made  use  of  by 
surgeons  to  stop  the  circulation  of  the  blood,  in  a  limb 
about  to  be  amputated.  It  is  performed  by  clasping  the 
hand  of  your  friend  as  far  as  you  can  in  your  own,  and 
then  contracting  the  muscles  of  your  thumb,  fingers,  and 
palm,  till  you  have  induced  any  degree  of  compression 
you  may  propose  in  the  hand  of  your  friend. 

12.  Particular  care  ought  to  be  taken,  if  your  own 
hand  is  hard  and  as  big  as  a  frying-pan,  and  that  of  your 

15 


170         WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER. 

friend  as  small  and  soft  as  a  young  maiden's,  not  to 
make  use  of  the  tournequet  shake  to  the  degree  that  will 
force  the  small  bones  of  the  wrist  out  of  place.  It  is 
also  seldom  safe  to  apply  it  to  gouty  persons. 

13.  A  hearty  young  friend  of  mine,  who  had  pursued 
the  study  of  geology,  and  acquired  an  unusual  hardness 
and  strength  of  hand  and  wrist  by  the  use  of  the  ham- 
mer, on  returning  from  a  scientific  excursion,  gave  his 
gouty  uncle  the  tournequet  shake  with  such  severity  as 
nearly  reduced  the  old  gentleman's  fingers  to  powder; 
for  which  my  friend  had  the  pleasure  of  being  disinher- 
ited, as  soon  as  his  uncle's  finger  got  well  enough  to  hold 
a  pen. 

14.  The  cordial  grapple  is  a  shake  of  some  interest. 
It  is  a  hearty,  boisterous  agitation  of  your  friend's  hand, 
accompanied  with  moderate  pressure,  and  loud,  cheerful 
exclamations  of  welcome.  It  is  an  excellent  traveling 
shake,  and  well  adapted  to  make  friends.  It  is  indis- 
criminately performed. 

15.  The  Peter  Grievous  touch  is  opposed  to  the  cor- 
dial grapple.  It  is  a  pensive,  tranquil  junction,  followed 
by  a  mild  subsultory  motion,  a  cast-down  look,  and  an 
inarticulate  inquiry  after  your  friend's  health. 

16.  The  prude  major  and  prude  minor  are  nearly 
monopolized  by  the  ladies.  They  can  not  be  accurately 
described,  but  are  constantly  to  be  noticed  in  practice. 
They  never  extend  beyond  the  fingers,  and  the  prude 
major  allows  you  to  touch  even  then  only  down  to  the 
second  joint.  The  prude  minor  gives  you  the  whole  of 
the  fore  finger.  Considerable  skill  may  be  shown  in  per- 
forming these  with  nice  variations,  such  as  extending 
the  left  hand  instead  of  the  right,  or  stretching  a  new 
glossy  kid  glove  over  the  finger  you  extend. 

17.  I  might  go  through  a  list  of  the  gripe  royal,  the 
saw-mill  shake,  and  the  shake  with  malice  prepense  ;  but 


WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER.  17 1 

these  are  only  factitious  combinations  of  the  three  funda- 
mental forms  already  described,  under  the  pump-handle, 
the  pendulum,  and  the  tournequet ;  as  the  loving  pat, 
the  touch  romantic,  and  the  sentimental  clasp,  may  be 
reduced,  in  their  main  movements,  to  various  combina- 
tions and  modifications  of  the  cordial  grapple,  the  Peter 
Grievous  touch,  and  the  prude  major  and  minor. 

18.  I  should  trouble  the  reader  with  a  few  remarks, 
in  conclusion,  on  the  mode  of  shaking  hands,  as  an  in- 
dication of  characters ;  but  as  I  see  a  friend  coming  up 
the  avenue,  who  is  addicted  to  the  pump-handle,  I  dare 
not  tire  my  wrist  by  further  writing. 

Edward  Everett. 

Note. — This  article  is  evidently  intended  as  a  satirical  burlesque  on  the 
extreme  awkwardness  manifested  by  many  in  "  shaking  hands."  Would 
not  a  little  instruction  by  the  teacher  be  advisable  in  several  little  mat- 
ters usually  classed  under  the  head  "  etiquette  ?" 


LESSON  LXVIII. 

THE  CLOSING  OF  THE  YEAR. 

1.  'Tis  midnight's  closing  hour,  and  silence  now 
Is  brooding,  like  a  gentle  spirit,  o'er 
The  still  and  pulseless  world.     Hark !  on  the  winds 
The  bell's  deep  tones  are  swelling :  'tis  the  knell 
Of  the  departed  year.     No  funeral  train 
Is  sweeping  past,  yet,  on  the  stream  and  wood, 
With  melancholy  light,  the  moonbeams  rest, 
Like  a  pale,  spotless  shroud :  the  air  is  stirred 
As  by  a  mourner's  sigh  ;  and  on  yon  cloud, 
That  floats  so  still  and  placidly  through  heaven, 
The  spirits  of  the  seasons  seem  to  stand — 
Young  spring,  bright  summer,  autumn's  solemn  form, 
And  winter  with  his  aged  locks — and  breathe 


172  WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER. 

In  mournful  cadences,  that  come  abroad 
Like  the  far  wind-harp's  wild  and  touching  wail, 
A  melancholy  dirge  o'er  the  dead  year — 
Gone  from  the  earth  forever. 

2.  'Tis  a  time 
For  memory  and  for  tears.     Within  the  deep, 
Still  chambers  of  the  heart,  a  specter  dim, 
Whose  tones  are  like  the  wizard  voice  of  Time, 
Heard  from  the  tomb  of  ages,  points  its  cold 
And  solemn  finger  to  the  beautiful 

And  holy  visions  that  have  passed  away, 
And  left  no  shadow  of  their  loveliness 
On  the  dead  waste  of  life. 

3.  That  specter  lifts 
The  coffin-lid  of  hope,  and  joy,  and  love, 
And,  bending  mournfully  above  the  pale, 

Sweet  forms  that  slumber  there,  scatters  dead  flowers 
O'er  what  has  passed  to  nothingness.     The  year 
Has  gone,  and  with  it  many  a  glorious  throng 
Of  happy  dreams.     Its  mark  is  on  the  brow, 
Its  shadows  in  each  heart. 

4.  In  its  swift  course 
It  waved  its  scepter  o'er  the  beautiful ; 

And  they  are  not.     It  laid  its  pallid  hand 
Upon  the  strong  man,  and  the  haughty  form 
Is  fallen,  and  the  flashing  eye  is  dim. 
It  trod  the  hall  of  revelry,  where  thronged 
The  bright  and  joyous;  and  the  tearful  Avail 
Of  stricken  ones  is  heard,  where  erst  the  song 
And  reckless  shout  resounded. 

5.  It  passed  o'er 

The  battle-plain,  where  sword,  and  spear,  and  shield. 
Flashed  in  the  light  of  mid-day ;  and  the  strength 
Of  serried  hosts  is  shivered,  and  the  grass, 


WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER.         173 

Green  from  the  soil  of  carnage,  waves  above 
The  crushed  and  mold'ring  skeleton.     It  came 
And  faded  like  a  wreath  of  mist  at  eve ; 
Yet,  ere  it  melted  in  the  viewless  air, 
It  heralded  its  millions  to  their  home 
In  the  dim  land  of  dreams. 

6.  Remorseless  Time ! 
Fierce  spirit  of  the  glass  and  scythe  !  what  power 
Can  stay  him  in  his  silent  course,  or  melt 

His  iron  heart  to  pity !     On,  still  on 

He  presses,  and  forever.     The  proud  bird, 

The  Condor  of  the  Andes,  that  can  soar 

Through  heaven's  unfathomable  depths,  or  brave 

The  fury  of  the  northern  hurricane, 

And  bathe  his  plumage  in  the  thunder's  home, 

Furls  his  broad  wings  at  nightfall,  and  sinks 

To  rest  upon  his  mountain  crag ;  but  Time 

Knows  not  the  weight  of  sleep  or  weariness  ; 

And  Night's  deep  darkness  has  no  chain  to  bind 

His  rushing  pinion. 

7.  Revolutions  sweep 
O'er  earth,  like  troubled  visions  o'er  the  breast 
Of  dreaming  sorrow  ;  cities  rise  and  sink 

Like  bubbles  on  the  water ;  fiery  isles 
Spring  blazing  from  the  ocean,  and  go  back 
To  their  mysterious  caverns ;  mountains  rear 
To  heaven  their  bald  and  blackened  cliffs,  and  bow 
Their  tall  heads  to  the  plain ;  new  empires  rise, 
Gathering  the  strength  of  hoary  centuries, 
And  rush  down  like  the  Alpine  avalanche, 
Startling  the  nations : 

8.  Yet  Time, 
Time,  the  tomb-builder,  holds  his  fierce  careei, 
Dark,  stern,  all-pitiless ;  and  pauses  not 

15* 


174  WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER. 

Amid  the  mighty  wrecks  that  strew  his  path, 
To  sit  and  muse,  like  other  conquerors, 
Upon  the  fearful  ruin  he  has  wrought. 


G.  D.   PaENTICK. 


LESSON  LXIX. 

SINCLAIR  AND  THE  DOCTOR. 

Puffer.  Your  humble  servant,  sir;  walk  in,  sir;  sit 
down,  sir.  My  master  will  wait  on  you  in  a  moment, 
sir ;  he  is  busy  dispatching  some  patients,  sir.  I'll  tell 
him  you  are  here,  sir.     Be  back  in  a  moment,  sir. 

Sinclair.  No,  no.     I  only  wish  to  inquire — 

P.  Right,  sir ;  you  could  not  have  applied  to  a  more 
able  physician.  My  master  understands  physic  as  fun- 
damentally as  I  do  my  mother  tongue,  sir. 

&  He  appears  to  have  an  able  advocate  in  you. 

P.  I  do  not  say  this,  sir,  because  he  is  my  master ; 
but  'tis  really  a  pleasure  to  be  his  patient,  and  I  should 
rather  die  by  his  medicines,  than  be  cured  by  those  of 
any  other ;  for,  whatever  happens,  a  man  may  be  cer- 
tain that  he  has  been  regularly  treated ;  and  should  he 
die  under  the  operation,  his  heirs  would  have  nothing 
to  reproach  him  for. 

S.  That  must  be  a  great  comfort  to  a  dead  man ! 

P.  To  be  sure,  sir ;  who  would  not  wish  to  die  me- 
thodically ?  Besides,  my  master  is  not  one  of  those  doc- 
tors who  husband  the  disease  of  their  patients.  He 
loves  to  dispatch  business ;  and  if  they  are  to  die,  h^ 
lends  them  a  helping  hand. 

S.  There  is  nothing  like  dispatch  in  business. 

P.  That  is  true,  sir.    What  is  the  use  of  so  much  hem- 


WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER.  175 

ming  and  hawing,  and  beating  around  the  bush  ?    I  like 
to  know  the  long  and  short  of  a  distemper  at  once. 

S.  Right,  undoubtedly. 

P.  Right!  Why,  there  were  three  of  my  children, 
whose  illness  he  did  me  the  honor  to  take  care  of,  who 
all  died  in  less  than  four  days,  when,  in  another's  hands, 
they  might  have  languished  as  many  months.  But  here 
comes  the  doctor ;  he  will  examine  your  case,  and  at 
once  decide  whether  it  is  hopeless.  Sir,  this  gentleman 
is  desirous  of  consulting — 

Doctor.  I  perceive  it,  sir ;  he  is  a  dying  man.  Do 
you  eat  well,  sir? 

S.  Eat !  yes,  sir,  perfectly  well. 

Dr.  Bad,  very  bad;  the  epigastric  region  must  be 
shockingly  disordered.     How  do  you  drink,  sir  ? 

S.  Nobody  drinks  better,  sir. 

Dr.  So  much  the  worse.  The  great  appetition  of 
frigid  and  humid,  is  an  indication  of  the  great  heat  and 
aridity  within.     Do  you  sleep  soundly  ? 

$.  Yes,  always. 

Dr.  This  indicates  a  dreadful  torpidity  of  the  system ; 
and,  sir,  I  pronounce  you  a  dead  man.  After  consider- 
ing the  diagnostic  and  prognostic  symptoms,  I  pro- 
nounce you  attacked,  affected,  possessed,  and  disorder- 
ed, by  that  species  of  mania  termed  hypochondria. 

P.  Undoubtedly,  sir ;  my  master  never  mistakes,  sir. 

Dr.  But  for  an  incontestable  diagnostic,  you  may 
perceive  his  distempered  ratiocination,  and  other  pa- 
thog-no-mon-ic  symptoms  of  this  disorder. 

P.  What  will  you  order  him,  sir  ? 

Dr.  First,  a  thorough  salivation. 

P.  But  should  this  have  no  effect  ? 

Dr.  We  shall  then  know  the  disease  does  not  proceed 
from  the  humors. 

P.  What  shall  we  try  next,  sir  ? 


176  WEBB'S  FOUKTH  READER. 

Dr.  Bleeding,  twice  a  day,  for  five  or  six  days. 

P.  If  he  should  grow  worse  and  worse,  what  then  ? 

Dr.  It  will  prove  the  disease  is  not  in  his  blood. 

P.  What  application  would  you  then  recommend  ? 

Dr.  My  infallible  sudorific.  Sweat  him  off  five  pounds 
a  day,  and  his  case  can  not  long  remain  doubtful.  This, 
you  know,  is  my  regular  course,  and  never  fails  to  kill 
or  cure. 

P.  I  congratulate  the  gentleman  upon  falling  into 
your  hands,  sir.  He  must  consider  himself  happy  in 
having  his  senses  disordered,  that  he  may  experience 
the  efficacy  and  gentleness  of  the  remedies  you  have 
proposed. 

S.  What  does  all  this  mean,  gentlemen  ?  I  do  not 
understand  your  nonsense. 

Dr.  Such  injurious  language  is  a  diagnostic  we  want- 
ed, to  confirm  our  opinion  of  his  distemper. 

S.  Are  you  crazy,  gentlemen  ?  I  am  not  sick.  [Spits 
on  his  hand  and  raises  his  cane.~\ 

Dr.  Another  diagnostic  ! — frequent  sputation. 

S.  You  better  be  done,  and  make  off. 

Dr.  Another  diagnostic! — anxiety  to  change  place. 
We  will  fix  you,  sir.     Your  disease — 

S.  I  have  no  disease,  sir. 

Dr.  A  bad  symptom,  when  a  patient  is  insensible  of 
his  illness. 

S.  I  am  well,  sir,  I  assure  you ;  and  having  lost  my 
way,  only  called  to  inquire  the  most  direct  route  to  the 
city.  But  I  have  heard  enough  from  you,  and  will  in- 
quire of  a  more  rational  person. 

Fowlk's  Dialogues. 

Ep  i  gas'  trie,  pertaining  to  the  upper  and  anterior  part  of  the  abdo- 
men. Ap  pe  ti'  tion,  desire.  A  riti'  i  ty,  dri/jicss.  Tor  pid'  i  ty,  stupid- 
ity, dullness.  Di  ag  nos'  tic,  d  i  xt  hi  <  pushing.  Prog  nos'  tic,  indicating 
something  future.  Ra  tioc  i  na'  tion,  (ra  shos  e  na'  shun,)  reasoning. 
Su  dor  if'  ic,  a  medicine  tfiat  produces  sweat.    Spu  ta'  tion,  act  of  spitting. 


WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER.         177 


LESSON  LXX. 

TRUE     WISDOM. 

1.  But  where  shall  wisdom  be  found  ? 

And  where  is  the  place  of  understanding  ? 

Man  knoweth  not  the  price  thereof ; 

Nor  can  it  be  found  in  the  land  of  the  living. 

The  deep  saith,  It  is  not  with  me ; 

And  the  sea  saith,  It  is  not  with  me. 

It  can  not  be  gotten  for  gold, 

Nor  shall  silver  be  weighed  out  as  the  price  thereof. 

2.  It  can  not  be  purchased  with  the  gold  of  Ophir, 
With  the  precious  onyx,  or  the  sapphire. 

Gold  and  crystal  are  not  to  be  compared  with  it ; 

Nor  can  it  be  purchased  with  jewels  of  fine  gold. 

No  mention  shall  be  made  of  coral,  or  of  crystal, 

For  wisdom  is  more  precious  than  pearls. 

The  topaz  of  Ethiopia  can  not  equal  it ; 

Nor  can  it  be  purchased  with  the  purest  gold. 

3.  Whence,  then,  cometh  wisdom  ? 

And  where  is  the  place  of  understanding  ? 

Since  it  is  hidden  from  the  eyes  of  all  the  living, 

And  kept  close  from  the  fowls  of  the  air. 

Destruction  and  Death  say, 

We  have  heard  of  its  fame  with  our  ears. 

God  only  knoweth  the  way  to  it ; 

He  only  knoweth  its  dwelling-place  ; 

For  He  seeth  to  the  ends  of  the  earth, 

And  surveyeth  all  things  under  the  whole  heaven. 

4.  When  He  gave  the  winds  their  weight, 
And  adjusted  the  waters  by  measure  ; 
When  He  prescribed  laws  to  the  rain, 
And  a  path  to  the  glittering  thunderbolt ; 


178      webb's  fourth  reader. 

Then  did  He  see  it,  and  make  it  known  ; 

He  established  it,  and  searched  it  out ; 

But  He  said  unto  man, 

Behold,  the  fear  of  the  Lord  !  that  is  is  thy  wisdom ; 

And  to  depart  from  evil,  thy  understanding. 

Dr.  Cheever's  Hebrew  Poets. 


LESSON  LXXI. 

DESTRUCTION    OF   THE    PHILISTINES. 

Occasions  drew  me  early  to  the  city  ; 

And,  as  the  gates  I  entered  with  sunrise, 

The  morning  trumpets  festival  proclaimed 

Through  each  high  street ;  little  I  had  dispatched, 

When  all  abroad  was  rumored  that  this  day 

Samson  should  be  brought  forth,  to  show  the  people 

Proof  of  his  mighty  strength  in  feats  and  games  : 

I  sorrowed  at  his  captive  state,  but  minded 

Not  to  be  absent  at  that  spectacle. 

The  building  was  a  spacious  theater 

Half  round,  on  two  main  pillars  vaulted  high, 

With  seats  where  all  the  lords,  and  each  degree 

Of  sort,  might  sit,  in  order  to  behold  ; 

The  other  side  was  open,  where  the  throng 

On  banks  and  scaffolds  under  sky  might  stand  ; 

I  among  these  aloof  obscurely  stood. 

The  feast  and  noon  grew  high,  and  sacrifice 

Had  filled  their  hearts  with  mirth,  high  cheer,  and  wine, 

When  to  their  sports  they  turned.     Immediately 

Was  Samson  as  a  public  servant  brought, 

In  their  state  livery  clad  ;  before  him  pipes, 


179 


And  timbrels, — on  each  side  went  armed  guards, 
Both  horse  and  foot, — before  him  and  behind, 
Archers  and  slingers,  cataphracts  and  spears. 
At  sight  of  him  the  people  with  a  shout 
Rifted  the  air,  clamoriug  their  god  with  praise, 
Who  had  made  their  dreadful  enemy  their  thrall. 

4.  He,  patient  but  undaunted,  where  they  led  him, 
Came  to  the  place  ;  and  what  was  set  before  him, 
Which  without  help  of  eye  might  be  essayed, 

To  heave,  pull,  draw,  or  break,  he  still  performed 

All  with  incredible,  stupendous  force  ; 

None  daring  to  appear  antagonist. 

At  length,  for  intermission  sake,  they  led  him 

Between  the  pillars  ;  he  his  guide  requested 

(For  so  from  such  as  nearer  stood  we  heard), 

As  over-tired,  to  let  him  lean  awhile 

With  both  his  arms  on  those  two  massy  pillars 

That  to  the  arched  roof  gave  main  support. 

5.  He,  unsuspicious,  led  him  ;  which,  when  Samson 
Felt  in  his  arms,  with  head  awhile  inclined, 
And  eyes  fast  fixed  he  stood,  as  one  who  prayed, 
Or  some  great  matter  iu  his  mind  revolved  : 

At  last,  with  head  erect,  thus  cried  aloud  : — 

"  Hitherto,  Lords,  what  your  commands  imposed 

I  have  performed,  as  reason  was,  obeying, 

Not  without  wonder  or  delight  beheld  ; 

Now  of  my  own  accord  such  other  trial 

I  mean  to  show  you  of  my  strength,  yet  greater, 

As  with  amaze  shall  strike  all  who  behold." 

6.  This  uttered,  straining  all  his  nerves,  he  bowed  : 
As  with  the  force  of  winds  and  waters  pent, 
When  mountains  tremble,  those  two  massy  pillars 
With  horrible  convulsion  to  and  fro 

He  tugged,  he  shook,  till  down  they  came,  and  drew 


180         WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER. 

The  whole  roof  after  them,  with  burst  of  thunder 
Upon  the  heads  of  all  who  sat  beneath, 
Lords,  ladies,  captains,  counselors  or  priests, 
Their  choice  nobility  and  flower,  not  only 
Of  this,  but  each  Philistian  city  round, 
Met  from  all  parts  to  solemnize  this  feast. 
Samson,  with  these  immixed,  inevitably 
Pulled  down  the  same  destruction  on  himself  ; 
The  vulgar  only  'scaped,  who  stood  without. 

MlLTOX. 


LESSON    LXXII. 

THE  GRAVE  OF  AARON  BURR. 

1.  We  envy  not  the  man  who,  unmoved,  can  gaze  on 
the  grave  of  Colonel  Burr.  It  is  one  of  the  most  deso- 
late places  that  we  have  ever  seen.  There  is  no  monu- 
mental pile  or  sculptured  marble  standing  over  it,  to 
evince  the  affection,  or  even  respect,  of  a  single  soul : 
not  so  much  as  a  rough,  unhewn  stone  marks  the  head 
or  the  foot  of  him  who  once  held  such  sway  over  the 
minds  and  feelings  of  men. 

2.  Wild  grass  and  poisonous  weeds  form  the  sod  that 
partly  covers  him.  The  rest  of  the  surface  of  the  grave 
is  sterile  clay,  yielding  no  verdant  plant  or  shrub.  The 
stranger  treads  upon  the  spot  and  regards  it  not,  until  he 
is  told  that  he  stands  over  the  remains  of  Burr. 

3.  How  changed  the  scene,  when  from  this  unmarked 
spot  we  turn  to  the  sleeping-place  of  the  father  of  Burr ! 
Over  it  there  is  no  towering  monument ;  but  there  is  a 
massive  tombstone,  on  which  are  chiseled  the  deeds  of 
the  loved  and  honored  President  of  New  Jersey  College. 


WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER.         181 

The  grave  of  the  son  is  only  designated  by  its  being  at 
the  foot  of  the  father's. 

4.  As  the  visitor  stands  over  the  grave,  many  scenes 
in  the  checkered  and  eventful  life  of  Burr  crowd  upon 
his  recollection.  He  remembers  the  6th  of  February, 
1756,  when  Burr  first  saw  that  light  through  which  mis- 
directed zeal  led  him  to  so  many  deeds  of  woe. 

5.  He  calls  to  mind  the  death  of  both  his  parents, 
while  he  was  only  three  years  old  ;  the  handsome  for- 
tune that  was  bequeathed  an  orphan  son ;  the  four  days' 
abscondance  from  his  preceptor,  when,  too,  he  was  a 
child  of  four  years'  growth ;  the  runaway  from  Mr.  Ed- 
wards, for  the  purpose  of  going  to  sea,  while  he  was  in 
his  eleventh  year ;  and  the  entrance  of  Princeton  Col- 
lege at  the  early  age  of  twelve,  where  he  graduated  at 
the  age  of  sixteen,  taking  the  honors  of  his  class  in  spite 
of  a  moral  character  that  evoked  much  disapprobation. 

6.  He  reflects  upon  him  as  a  volunteer  in  the  Amer- 
ican revolution,  and  a  soldier  in  the  celebrated  expedi- 
tion of  Arnold  to  Quebec  ;  as  an  aid  to  General  Putnam, 
and  a  conferee  of  the  title  of  lieutenant-colonel.  He 
follows  him  to  the  study  of  law,  and  admittance  to  the 
Albany  bar  in  1782 ;  to  the  Senate  in  1791  ;  and  to  the 
second  place  in  the  high  gift  of  the  American  people  in 
1801. 

7.  He  beholds  him  the  destroyer  of  Hamilton  ;  the 
reveler  in  intolerable  licentiousness ;  the  intended  estab- 
lisher  of  an  empire  beyond  the  great  father  of  rivers,  of 
which  he  was  to  be  emperor,  and  the  Crescent  City  the 
great  capital.  He  sees  him  arraigned  before  the  tri- 
bunal of  his  country,  and  acquitted  for  want  of  that 
overt  proof  which  his  own  far-stretching  cunning  had 
enveloped  in  impenetrable  clouds. 

8.  And,  finally,  he  follows  him  from  Staten  Island, 
where,  in   1836,  he  closed  his  miserable  career,  to  the 


16 


182         WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER. 

cemetery  at  Princeton,  to  be  interred  with  the  honors  of 
war,  and  to  molder  in  a  grave  upon  which  the  curses  of 
injured  virtue  and  the  rewards  of  vicious  ambition  are 
to  rest  forever. 

9.  The  life,  the  death,  and  the  grave  of  Colonel  Burr 
carry  their  own  moral.  The  simple  facts  tell  a  tale  that 
needs  no  comment.  Words  need  not  inform  us  that 
genius,  however  transcendent,  unless  virtue  is  one  of  its 
elements,  can  not  attain  eminence  on  which  an  uncloud- 
ed sun  will  forever  beam. 


LESSON  LXXIII. 

DEATH    OF    ALEXANDER    HAMILTON. 

1.  A  short  time  since,  and  he  who  is  the  occasion  of 
our  sorrows  was  the  ornament  of  his  country.  He  stood 
on  an  eminence,  and  glory  covered  him.  From  that 
eminence  he  has  fallen — suddenly,  forever  fallen.  His 
intercourse  with  the  living  world  is  now  ended  ;  and 
those  who  would  hereafter  find  him  must  seek  him  in  the 
grave.  There,  cold  and  lifeless,  is  the  heart  which  just 
now  was  the  seat  of  friendship ;  there,  dim  and  sightless, 
is  the  eye  whose  radiant  and  enlivening  orb  beamed 
with  intelligence  ;  and  there,  closed  forever,  are  those 
lips  on  whose  persuasive  accents  we  have  so  often,  and 
so  lately,  hung  with  transport. 

2.  From  the  darkness  which  rests  upon  his  tomb, 
there  proceeds,  mcthinks,  a  light,  in  which  it  is  clearly 
seen  that  those  gaudy  objects  which  men  pursue  are 
only  phantoms.  In  this  light,  how  dimly  shines  the 
splendor  of  victory  !  how  humble  appears  the  majesty  of 
grandeur!     The  bubble  which  seemed  to  have  so  much 


WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER.         183 

solidity  has  burst,  and  we  again  see  that  all  below  the 
sun  is  vanity. 

3.  True,  the  funeral  eulogy  has  been  pronounced; 
the  sad  and  solemn  procession  has  moved ;  t'he  badge 
of  mourning  has  already  been  decreed  ;  and  presently 
the  sculptured  marble  will  lift  up  its  front,  proud  to  per- 
petuate the  name  of  Hamilton,  and  rehearse  to  the  pass- 
ing traveler  his  virtues. 

4.  Just  tributes  of  respect,  and  to  the  living  useful : 
but  to  him,  moldering  in  his  narrow  and  humble  habita- 
tion, what  are  they  ?  How  vain !  how  unavailing ! 
Approach  and  behold,  while  I  lift  from  his  sepulcher  its 
covering.  Ye  admirers  of  his  greatness — ye  emulous  of 
his  talents  and  his  fame — approach  and  behold  him  now. 

5.  How  pale  !  how  silent !  No  martial  bands  admire 
the  adroitness  of  his  movements  !  no  fascinated  throng 
weep,  and  melt,  and  tremble  at  his  eloquence !  Amazing 
change  !  A  shroud !  a  coffin  !  a  narrow  subterraneous 
cabin  !  This  is  all  that  now  remains  of  Hamilton  !  And 
is  this  all  that  remains  of  him  ?  During  a,  life  so  transi- 
tory, what  lasting  monument,  then,  can  our  fondest  hopes 
erect  ? 

6.  My  brethren !  we  stand  on  the  borders  of  an  awful 
gulf,  which  is  swallowing  up  all  things  human.  And  is 
there,  amidst  this  universal  wreck,  nothing  stable,  nothing 
abiding,  nothing  immortal,  on  which  poor,  frail,  dying 
man  can  fasten? 

7.  Ask  the  hero ;  ask  the  statesman,  whose  wisdom 
you  have  been  accustomed  to  revere,  and  he  will  tell 
you.  He  will  tell  you,  did  I  say  ?  He  nas  already  told 
you,  from  his  death-bed ;  and  his  illumined  spirit  still 
whispers  from  the  heavens,  with  well-known  eloquence, 
the  solemn  admonition  :  "  Mortals !  hastening  to  the 
tomb,  and  once  the  companions  of  my  pilgrimage,  take 
warning,  and  avoid  my  errors ;  cultivate  the  virtues  I 


184         WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER. 

have  recommended  ;  choose  the  Savior  I  have  chosen  ; 
live  disinterestedly  ;  live  for  immortality ;  and  if  you 
would  rescue  any  thing  from  final  dissolution,  lay  it  up  in 
God."  Eliphalet  Nott. 

2.  Than'  toms,  a  fancied  vision. 

3.  Eu'  lo  gy,  praise. 

4.  Em'  u  lous,  desirous  to  excel. 

5.  Fas'  cinate,  to  charm.  Sub  ter  ra'  ne  ous,  being  under  the  surface 
of  the  earth.     Trans'  i  to  ry,  passing  without  stay. 

7.  Ad  mo  ni'  tion,  advice. 

Note. — Alexander  Hamilton  was  one  of  the  most  distinguished  and 
eloquent  sons  of  New  York.  He  was  killed  (in  a  duel)  by  Aaron  Burr, 
at  Weehawk,  New  Jersey  (opposite  New  York  city),  July  11, 1804.  The 
stigma  of  the  duel  rests  alone  on  Burr. 


LESSON  LXXIV. 

THE     SPIDER     AND     THE     FLY. 

"  Will  you  walk  into  my  parlor  ?"  said  a  spider  to  a  fly, 
"  'Tis  the  prettiest  little  parlor  that  ever  you  did  spy. 
The  way  into  my  parlor  is  up  a  winding  stair, 
And  I  have  many  pretty  things  to  show  you  when  you're 

there." 
"  0,  no,  no,"  said  the  little  fly,  "  to  ask  it  is  in  vain, 
For  who  goes  up  your  winding  stair,  can  ne'er  come  down 

again." 

"  I'm  sure  you  must  be  weary  with  soaring  up  so  high, 
Will  you  rest  upon  my  little  bed  ?"  said  the  spider  to  the  fly ; 
"  There  are  pretty  curtains  drawn  around,  the  sheets  are  fine 

and  thin, 
And  if  you'd  like  to  rest  awhile,  I'll  snugly  tuck  you  in." 
"  0,  no,  no,"  said  the  little  fly,  "  for  I've  often  heard  it 
They  never,  never  wake  again,  who  sleep  upon  your  bed." 


WEBB'S  FOUKTH  KEADEK.         135 

3.  Said  the  cunning  spider  to  the  fly,  "  Dear  friend,  what  shall 

I  do, 
To  prove  the  warm  affection  I've  always  felt  for  you  ? 
I  have  within  my  pantry  a  store  of  all  that's  nice ; 
I'm  sure  you're  very  welcome — will  you  please  to  take  a 

slice  ?" 
"  0,  no,  no,"  said  the  little  fly,  "kind  sir,  that  can  not  be ; 
I've  heard  what's  in  your  pantry,  and  do  not  wish  to  see." 

4.  "  Sweet  creature,"  said  the  spider,  M  you're  witty  and  you're 

wise ; 
How  handsome  are  your  gauzy  wings !  how  brilliant  are 

your  eyes ! 
I  have  a  looking-glass  upon  my  parlor  shelf ; 
If  you'll  step  in  a  moment,  dear,  you  shall  behold  yourself." 
"  I  thank   you,  gentle  sir,"  said  she,   "  for   what  you're 

pleased  to  say, 
And  bidding  you  good  morning  now,  I'll  call  another  day." 

5.  The  spider  turned  him  round  about,  and  went  into  his  den, 
For  well  he  knew  the  silly  fly  would  soon  come  back  again  ; 
So  he  wove  a  subtile  web  in  a  little  corner  sly, 

And  set  his  table  ready,  to  dine  upon  the  fly. 
Then  he  went  out  to  his  door  again,  and  merrily  did  sing, 
"  Come  hither,  hither,  pretty  fly,  with  the  pearl  and  silver 
wing; 

6.  "  Your  robes  are  green  and  purple,  there's  a  crest  upon  your 

head ; 
Your  eyes  are  like  the  diamond  bright,  and  mine  are  dull 

as  lead  !" 
Alas  !  alas  !  how  very  soon  this  silly  little  fly, 
Hearing  his  wily,  flattering  words,  came  slowly  flitting  by  ! 
With  buzzing  wing  she  hung  aloof,  then  near  and  nearer 

drew — 
Thinking  only  of  her  crested  head — poor  foolish  thing  !    At 

last, 
Up  jumped  the  cunning  spider,  and  fiercely  held  her  fast. 

~ 16*~ 


186  WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER. 

7.  He  dragged  her  up  his  winding  stair,  into  his  dismal  den, 
Within  his  little  parlor ;  but  she  ne'er  came  down  again  ! 
And  now,  dear  little  children,  who  may  this  story  read, 
To  idle,  silly,  flattering  words  I  pray  you  ne'er  give  heed ; 
Unto  an  evil  counselor  close  heart,  and  ear,  and  eye, 
And  take  a  lesson  from  this  tale  of  the  Spider  and  the  Fly. 


LESSON   LXXV. 

I     WOULD     NOT     LIVE      ALWAY. 

"  It  is  true,  there  are  shadows  as  well  as  lights,  clouds  as  well  as  sun- 
shine, thorns  as  well  as  roses  ;  but  it  is  a  happy  world,  after  all" 

1.  "  I  would  not  live  alway  !"  yet  'tis  not  that  here 

There's  nothing  to  live  for,  and  nothing  to  love ; 
The  cup  of  life's  blessings,  though  mingled  with  tears, 

Is  crowned  with  rich  tokens  of  good  from  above  : 
And  dark  though  the  storms  of  adversity  rise — 

Though  changes  dishearten,  and  dangers  appall — 
Each  hath  its  high  purpose,  both  gracious  and  wise, 

And  a  Father's  kind  providence  rules  over  all. 

2.  "  I  would  not  live  alway  !"  and  yet,  oh,  to  die ! 

With  a  shuddering  thrill  how  it  palsies  the  heart ! 
We  may  love,  we  may  pant  for,  the  glory  on  high, 

Yet  tremble  and  grieve  from  earth's  kindred  to  part. 
There  are  ties  of  deep  tenderness  drawing  us  down, 

Which  warm  'round  the  heart-strings  their  tendrils  will 
weave  ; 
And  Faith,  reaching  forth  for  her  heavenly  crown, 

Still  lingers,  embracing  the  friends  she  must  leave. 

3.  "  I  would  not  live  alway  !"  because  I  am  sure 

There's  a  better,  a  holier  rest  in  the  sky  ; 
And  the  hope  that  looks  forth  to  that  heavenly  shore, 
Overcomes  timid  nature's  relic tance  to  die. 


WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER.         187 

0,  visions  of  glory,  of  bliss,  and  of  love, 

Where  sin  can  not  enter,  nor  passion  enslave, 

Ye  have  power  o'er  the  heart,  to  subdue  or  remove 
The  sharpness  of  death,  and  the  gloom  of  the  grave  ! 

4.  "  I  would  not  live  alway  !"  yet  'tis  not  that  time, 

Its  loves,  hopes,  and  friendships,  cares,  duties,  and  joys, 
Yield  nothing  exalted,  nor  pure,  nor  sublime, 

The  heart  to  delight,  or  the  soul  to  employ ; 
No  !  an  angel  might  oftentimes  sinlessly  dwell 

'Mid  the  innocent  scenes  to  life's  pilgrimage  given ; 
And  though  passion  and  folly  can  make  earth  a  hell, 

To  the  pure  'tis  the  emblem  and  gateway  of  heaven. 

5.  "  I  would  not  live  alway !"  and  yet,  while  I  stay 

In  this  Eden  of  Time,  'mid  these  gardens  of  earth, 
I'd  enjoy  the  sweet  flowers  and  fruits  as  I  may, 

And  gain  with  their  treasures  whate'er  they  are  worth : 
I  would  live,  as  if  life  were  a  part  of  my  heaven  ; 

I  would  love,  as  if  love  were  a  part  of  its  bliss  ; 
And  I'd  take  the  sweet  comforts,  so  lavishly  given, 

As  foretastes  of  that  world,  in  portions,  in  this. 

6.  "  I  would  not  live  alway  !"  yet  willingly  wait, 

Be  it  longer  or  shorter,  life's  journey  to  roam, 
Ever  ready  and  girded,  with  spirits  elate, 

To  obey  the  first  call  that  shall  summon  r-3  home. 
0,  yes  !  it  is  better,  far  better  to  go, 

Where  pain,  sin,  and  sorrow  can  never  intrude  ; 
And  yet  I  would  cheerfully  tarry  below, 

And  expecting  the  better,  rejoice  in  the  good. 

W.  CUTTXR. 


188         WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER. 


LESSON  LXXVI. 

APPETITE. 

1.  The  young  man  walks  in  the  midst  of  temptation 
to  appetite,  the  improper  indulgence  of  which  is  in 
danger  of  proving  his  ruin.  Health,  longevity,  and 
virtue  depend  on  his  resisting  these  temptations.  The 
providence  of  God  is  no  more  responsible,  because  a 
man  by  improper  indulgence  becomes  subject  to  disease, 
than  for  the  picking  of  his  pockets.  For  a  young  man 
to  injure  his  health,  is  to  waste  his  patrimony  and  de- 
stroy his  capacity  for  virtuous  deeds. 

2.  Should  man  love  God,  he  would  have  ten  times  the 
strength  for  the  exercise  of  it,  with  a  sound  body.  Not 
only  the  amount,  but  the  quality  of  man's  labor  depends 
on  his  health.  Not  only  lying  lips,  but  a  dyspeptic 
stomach,  is  an  abomination  to  the  Lord.  The  produc- 
tions of  the  poet,  the  man  of  science,  or  the  orator,  must 
be  affected  by  his  health.  The  man  who  neglects  to 
control  his  appetites,  is  to  himself  what  a  state  of  bar- 
barism is  to  society — the  brutish  part  predominates.  He 
is  to  himself  what  Nicholas  is  to  Hungary. 

3.  Men  buy  pains,  and  the  purveyor  and  the  market- 
man  bring  home  disease.  Our  pious  ancestors  used  to 
bury  the  suicide  where  four  roads  met ;  yet  every  gen- 
tleman or  lady  who  lays  the  foundation  of  disease  with 
turtle  soup  or  lobster  salad,  as  really  commits  suicide  as 
if  they  used  the  rope  or  the  pistol  ;  and  were  the  old 
law  revived,  how  many  who  are  now  honored  with  a 
resting-place  at  Auburn,  would  be  found  on  the  cross- 
roads !  Is  it  nothing  amazing  that  a  man,  invited  to  a 
repast  worthy  of  the  gods,  should  stop  to  feed  on  gar- 
bage ;  or,  when  called  to  partake  of  the  Circean  cup, 
should  stop  to  guzzle  with  swine  ? 


WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER.  189 

4.  If  young  men  imagine  that  the  gratification  of  ap- 
petite is  the  great  source  of  enjoyment,  they  will  find 
this  in  the  highest  degree  with  industry  and  temperance. 
The  epicure,  who  sees  it  in  a  dinner  which  costs  five 
dollars,  will  find  less  enjoyment  of  appetite  than  the 
laborer  who  dines  on  a  shilling.  If  the  devotee  of  ap- 
petite desires  its  highest  gratification,  he  must  not  send 
for  buffalo  tongues,  but  climb  a  mountain  or  swing  an 
ax.  Without  health,  there  is  no  delicacy  that  can  pro- 
voke an  appetite.  Whoever  destroys  his  health,  turns 
the  most  delicious  viands  into  ipecac  and  aloes. 

5.  The  man  that  is  physically  wicked,  does  not  live 
out  half  his  days,  and  he  is  not  half  alive  while  he  does 
live.  However  gracious  God  may  be  with  the  heart, 
he  never  pardons  the  stomach.  Let  a  young  man  pur- 
sue a  course  of  temperance,  sobriety,  and  industry,  and 
he  may  retain  his  vigor  till  threescore  years  and  ten, 
with  his  cup  of  enjoyment  full,  and  depart  painlessly : 
as  the  candle  burns  out  in  its  socket,  he  will  expire. 

6.  But  look  at  the  opposite.  When  a  man  suffers  his 
appetite  to  control  him,  he  turns  his  dwelling  into  a  lazar- 
house,  whether  he  lives  in  a  hovel,  clothed  in  rags,  or 
the  splendid  mansion  and  gorgeous  clothing  of  the 
upper  ten. 

7.  Let  every  young  man  look  on  this  picture  and  on 
that,  and  tell  which  he  will  choose.  Society  despises 
the  wretch  who  debases  himself,  and  treats  him  as  the 
wild  horses  do  their  intractable  members — get  him  inside 
of  a  ring,  and  kick  him  to  death.  HoRACE  Mann> 


1.  Pat'  ri  mo  ny,  an  estate  derived  from  a  father  or  other  ancestor. 

3.  Pur  rey'  or,  one   who  provides  victuals.     Gar'  bage,  filthy  food. 
Oir  ce'  an,  bewitching. 

4.  Dev  o  tee',  one  devoted. 

6.  La'  zar-house,  a  resort  for  persons  afflicted  with  nauseous  diseases. 


190         WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER. 


LESSON   LXXVII. 

TO     MARY     IN     HEAVEN. 

1.  Thou  lingering  star,  with  less'ning  ray, 

That  lov'st  to  greet  the  early  morn, 
Again  thou  usher'st  in  the  day 

My  Mary  from  my  soul  was  torn. 
0,  Mary !  dear,  departed  shade ! 

Where  is  thy  place  of  blissful  rest? 
Seest  thou  thy  lover  lowly  laid  ? 

Hear'st  thou  the  groans  that  rend  his  breast  ? 

2.  That  sacred  hour  can  I  forget — 

Can  I  forget  the  hallow'd  grove, 
Where  by  the  winding  Ayr  we  met, 

To  live  one  day  of  parting  love ! 
Eternity  will  not  efface 

Those  records  dear  of  transports  past ; 
Thy  image  at  our  last  embrace  ! 

Ah !  little  thought  we  'twas  our  last ! 

3.  Ayr,  gurgling,  kissed  his  pebbled  shore, 

O'erhung  with  wild  woods'  thick'ning  green  ; 
The  fragrant  birch,  and  hawthorn  hoar, 

Twin'd  amorous  'round  the  raptur'd  scene. 
The  flowers  sprang  wanton  to  be  prest, 

The  birds  sang  love  on  every  spray, 
Till  too,  too  soon,  the  glowing  west 

Proclaim'd  the  speed  of  winged  day. 

4.  Still  o'er  these  scenes  my  mem'ry  wakes, 

And  fondly  broods  with  miser  care ! 
Time  but  the  impression  deeper  makes, 
As  streams  their  channels  deeper  wear. 


WEBB'S  FOUKTH  READER.         191 

My  Mary  !  dear,  departed  shade ! 

Where  is  thy  place  of  blissful  rest  ? 
Seest  thou  thy  lover  lowly  laid  ? 

Hear'st  thou  the  groans  that  rend  his  breast  ? 

Robert  Burns. 


LESSON   LXXV;II. 

THE    PURSUIT    OF    HAPPINESS. 

1.  The  world  is  in  a  ceaseless  toil  for  happiness  ;  and 
yet  not  one  in  a  hundred  ever  obtains  what  he  has  con- 
sidered the  desideratum  of  worldly  felicity.  If  by  con- 
stant effort  and  good  fortune,  one  now  and  then  over- 
comes ali  obstacles,  and  forces  his  way  to  the  long- 
cherished  object  of  an  anxious  life,  it  is  more  than  likely 
that  he  will  still  be  unsatisfied  with  his  success,  and  be- 
come the  victim  of  disappointment,  even  in  the  posses- 
sion of  all  he  once  held  to  be  the  beau-ideal  of  earthly 
hope  and  desire. 

2.  Let  those  who  are  anxiously  seeking  and  con- 
stantly laboring  for  future  ease  and  comfort  at  a  more 
advanced  period  of  life,  consider  whether  they  may  not 
even  now  have  all  the  necessary  means  of  happiness 
within  their  reach.  Let  them  inquire,  whether,  in  their 
solicitude  for  future  good,  they  may  not  be  losing  present 
hours  of  real  pleasure.  Surrounded  as  we  are  by  the 
elements  of  sorrow  and  misery,  we  often,  and  perhaps 
generally,  have  the  choice  of  happiness  or  wretchedness 
left  to  ourselves. 

3.  The  truth  that  "  the  mind  is  its  own  place/'  must  be 
more  widely  known,  and  more  deeply  felt,  ere  we  look  in 
the  right  direction  for  the  approach  of  earthly  bliss  and 

14* 


192  WEBB'S  FOURTII  READER. 

millennial  glory.  Mankind  are  prone  to  look  without, 
and  not  within  themselves  for  happiness.  Instead  of 
cultivating  the  virtues  and  graces  of  the  heart — instead 
of  qualifying  and  accomplishing  the  intellect,  and  mak- 
ing a  home  for  happiness  within  their  own  souls,  their 
whole  genius  and  capacity  are  bent  on  arranging  out- 
ward conditions  and  circumstances. 

4.  An  imposing  mansion,  a  gilded  equipage,  and  a 
sumptuous  wardrobe,  are  often  the  requisites  for  enjoy- 
ment in  the  imagination  of  many  a  worldling.  If  these 
are  not  given  him,  he  is  ever  miserable  in  his  vain  and 
envious  efforts ;  or,  if  he  at  length  receives  them,  after 
long  years  of  unceasing  toil,  he  finds,  too  late,  that  peace 
and  contentment  are  not  brought  with  their  possession. 
The  discontented  and  unsatisfied  disposition  must  ever 
remain  unhappy ;  while  those  who  labor  for  what  they 
never  can  obtain,  will  surely  be  doomed  to  a  life  of  dis- 
appointment and  vexation. 

5.  Those  persons  are  to  be  pitied,  who  find  the  bur- 
den of  their  enjoyments  only  in  the  whirl  of  excitements 
and  the  gathering  of  assemblies ;  and  they  are  greatly 
deceived,  who  leave  the  quiet  fireside  and  domestic  cir- 
cle, to  chase  for  happiness  up  and  down  the  winding 
avenues  of  the  gay  world :  they  will  find,  when  strength 
and  patience  have  been  exhausted,  that  they  have  pur- 
sued only  a  phantom. 

6.  Happiness  is  not  to  be  run  after.  It  is  not  won 
by  changing  our  circumstances,  but  by  improving  and 
changing  ourselves  and  our  hearts.  It  it  comes  not  to 
quiet  homes  and  healthful  bodies,  it  is  vain  to  seek  for 
it  in  the  crowded  mart  or  public  throng.  It  is  true,  we 
may  for  a  moment  forget  our  misery  amid  the  frivolous 
array  of  fashion,  or  the  craziness  of  dissipation  ;  but  to 
expect  positive  happiness  therefrom,  is  as  absurd  as  to 
look  for  sunbeams  in  a  wandering  cloud  of  midnight. 


WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER.         193 

7.  Every  truly  happy  person  finds  his  bliss  in  his  own 
bosom ;  it  is  a  part  of  his  nature  and  his  life.  There 
he  has  a  world  within  a  world  ;  and  if  left  to  himself, 
and  shut  out  from  intercourse  with  his  fellow-men,  he 
can  retire  and  amuse  himself  with  his  own  pleasurable 
and  innocent  thoughts,  fiis  happiness  not  being  de- 
pendent on  others,  he  is  consequently  the  most  indepen- 
dent of  beings. 

8.  Contented  in  the  sphere  which  Providence  has 
assigned  him,  he  never  mourns  or  murmurs  over  his 
worldly  fate  and  fortune ;  but  with  a  cheerful  heart  and 
a  steady  purpose  he  pursues  the  path  of  life,  assisting 
the  needy  and  consoling  the  afflicted,  and  feels  at  every 
discharge  of  duty  a  blissful  thrill  of  pleasure,  and  an 
ever  attending  consciousness  of  Divine  approbation. 

Ezra  D.  Barker. 


LESSON  LXXIX. 

THRILLING     INCIDENT. 

1.  At  a  temperance  meeting  in  Philadelphia,  some 
years  ago,  a  learned  clergyman  spoke  in  favor  of  wine 
as  a  drink ;  demonstrating  it,  quite  to  his  own  satisfac- 
tion, to  be  scriptural,  gentlemanly,  and  healthful.  When 
he  sat  down,  a  plain,  elderly  man  arose,  and  asked  leave 
to  say  a  few  words. 

2.  "  A  young  friend  of  mine,"  said  he,  "  who  had  long 
been  very  intemperate,  was  at  length  persuaded,  to  the 
great  joy  of  his  friends,  to  take  the  pledge  of  entire  ab- 
stinence from  all  that  could  intoxicate.  He  kept  the 
pledge  faithfully  for  some  time,  struggling  with  his  habit 
fearfully ;  till  one  evening,  in  a  social  party,  glasses  of 
wine  were  handed  around. 


It 


194  WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER. 

3.  "  They  came  to  a  clergyman  present,  who  took  a 
glass,  saying  a  few  words  in  vindication  of  the  prac- 
tice. '  Well,'  thought  the  young  man,  '  if  a  clergyman 
can  take  wine,  and  justify  it  so  well,  why  not  I  ?'  So 
he  also  took  a  glass.  It  instantly  rekindled  his  fiery  and 
slumbering  appetite,  and  aftei*a  rapid  downward  course, 
he  died  of  delirium  tremens — died  a  raving  madman." 

4.  The  old  man  paused  for  utterance,  and  was  just 
able  to  add:  "That  young  man  was  my  son,  and  the 
clergyman  was  the  Rev.  Doctor  who  has  just  addressed 
the  assembly !" 


LESSON  LXXX. 

GO  FEEL  WHAT  I  HAVE  FELT. 

1.  The  circumstances  which  induced  the  writing  of 
the  following  most  touching  and  thrilling  lines,  are  as 
follows :  A  young  lady  of  New  York  was  in  the  habit 
of  writing  for  the  Philadelphia  Ledger,  on  the  subject 
of  Temperance. 

2.  Her  writing  was  so  full  of  pathos,  and  evinced 
such  deep  emotion  of  soul,  that  a  friend  of  hers  accused 
her  of  being  a  maniac  on  the  subject  of  temperance; — 
whereupon  she  wrete  the  following  lines : 

3.  Go  feel  what  I  have  felt, 

Go  bear  what  I  have  borne — 
Sink  'neath  a  blow  a  father  dealt, 

And  the  cold  world's  proud  scorn : 
Then  suffer  on  from  year  to  year — 
Thy  sole  relief  the  scorching  tear. 


WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER.         195 

4.  Go  kneel  as  I  have  knelt, 

Implore,  beseech,  and  pray — 
Strive  the  besotted  heart  to  melt, 

The  downward  course  to  stay ; 
Be  dashed  with  bitter  curse  aside ; 
Your  prayers  burlesqued,  your  tears  defied. 

5.  Go  weep  as  I  have  wept 

O'er  a  loved  father's  fall — 
See  every  promised  blessing  swept — 

Youth's  sweetness  turned  to  gall ; 
Life's  fading  flowers  strew'd  all  the  way 
That  brought  me  up  to  woman's  day. 

6.  Go  see  what  I  have  seen, 

Behold  the  strong  man  bowed — 
With  gnashing  teeth — lips  bathed  in  blood — 

And  cold  and  livid  brow : 
Go  catch  his  withering  glance,  and  see 
There  mirrored,  his  soul's  misery. 

7.  Go  to  thy  mother's  side 

And  her  crushed  bosom  cheer ;  t 
Thine  own  deep  anguish  hide  ; 

Wipe  from  her  cheek  the  bitter  tear ; 
Mark  her  worn  frame,  and  wither 'd  brow ; 
The  gray  that  streaks  her  dark  hair  now ; 

8.  With  fading  frame  and  trembling  limb  ; 
And  trace  the  ruin  back  to  him 
Whose  plighted  faith  in  early  youth, 
Promis'd  eternal  love  and  truth, 

But  who,  forsworn,  hath  yielded  up 

That  promise  to  the  cursed  cup ; 

And  led  her  down  through  love  and  light, 

And  all  that  made  her  promise  bright ; 

And  chained  her  there  'mid  want  and  strife — 

That  lowly  thing — a  drunkard's  wife  ! 


196         WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER. 

And  stamp'd  on  childhood's  brow  so  mild, 
That  withering  blight — the  drunkard's  child ! 

9.  Go  hear  and  feel,  and  see  and  know, 

All  that  my  soul  hath  felt  and  known ; 

Then  look  upon  the  wine  cup's  glow, 
See  if  its  beauty  can  atone : 

Think  if  its  flavor  you  will  try ! 

When  all  proclaim,  'tis  drink  and  die ! 

10.  Tell  me  I  hate  the  bowl — 

Hate  is  a  feeble  word  : 
i  loathe abhor my  very  soul 

With  strong  distrust  is  stirr'd — 
When  I  see,  or  hear,  or  tell, 
Of  the  dark  beverage  of  hell. 


LESSON   LXXXI. 

CHRIST  IN  THE  GARDEN  OF  GETHSEMANE. 

1.  He  kneels  !  the  Savior  of  mankind  !  on  ground 
Now  hallow'd  by  his  presence.     All  alone 

He  kneels ;  his  own  disciples,  favor'd  most 
Both  by  his  love  and  blessings — even  they 
Have  left  their  Master  now  ;  and  wearied  li<\ 
Buried  in  sleep  'neath  yonder  trees ;  their  faith 
Hath  proved  too  weak  to  aid  them  to  endure 
The  sight  of  this  dread  conflict  of  their  Lord. 

2.  Evening  steals  on,  and  throws  her  mournful  vail 
O'er  the  sad  garden ;  quiet  reigns  around 
Fitted  for  such  a  scene.     The  Savior's  eves 

Are  raised  to  heav'n,  where  soon,  his  earthly  pain 


WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER.         197 

Is  to  be  recompensed  with  bliss  intense. 

He  is  in  prayer — in  prayer  almost  too  strong 

For  the  weak  mortal  frame  which  doth  enshrine 

A  soul  Divine.     Now  from  His  quiv'ring  lips 

In  fervent  supplication  burst  the  words, 

"  Father !  this  cup — Oh  !  let  it  pass  away ! 

Yet,  Father !  not  My  will,  but  Thine  be  done." 

3.  He  sinks  to  earth  again :  yes !  prostrate  lies 
On  the  cold  earth,  the  Savior  of  the  world ! 
But,  see !  what  bright  angelic  form  appears 
Radiant  with  light.     His  golden  pinions  closed, 
A  seraph  he  alights  on  yonder  mound, 

And  to  the  much-enduring  Lamb  of  God 
Imparts  celestial  strength.     "  Savior,"  he  saith, 
"  Thy  God  is  with  Thee ;  well-nigh  hast  Thou  reach'd 
Thy  final  taste  of  earthly  agony ; 
One  conflict  more,  and  everlasting  bliss 
Unspeakable,  shall  crown  Thy  conquering  head. 
Soon  shalt  Thou  take  Thy  throne  at  God's  right  hand, 
And  quaff  eternally  the  cup  of  joy." 

4.  The  cherub  ceases,  but  his  words  infuse 
Sweet  balm  into  the  Savior's  troubled  breast. 
He  rises  from  the  ground ;  His  step  regains 
Its  wonted  majesty :  serene  and  calm 

He  slowly  leaves  the  garden,  late  the  scene 
Of  His  sad  agony,  for  us  endured. 


LESSON  LXXXII. 

WOMAN    AT    HOME. 


1.  Such  is  the  position  in  society  which  many  esti- 
mable women  are  called  upon  to  fill,  that  unless  they 

11* 


198      webb's  fourth  reader. 

have  stored  their  minds  with  general  knowledge  during 
the  season  of  youth,  they  never  have  the  opportunity  of 
doing  so  afterward.  How  valuable,  then,  is  such  a  store 
to  draw  upon  for  thought,  when  the  mind  throughout  the 
day  is  busily  employed,  and  sometimes  when  the  head  is 
weary ! 

2.  It  is  then  that  knowledge  not  only  sweetens  labor, 
but  often,  when  the  task  is  ended,  and  a  few  social  friends 
are  met  together,  it  comes  forth  unbidden,  in  those 
glimpses  of  illumination,  which  a  well-informed,  intelli- 
gent woman,  is  able  to  strike  out  of  the  humblest  ma- 
terial. 

3.  It  is  then  that,  without  the  slightest  display,  her 
memory  helps  her  to  throw  in  those  apt  allusions,  which 
clothe  the  most  familiar  objects  in  borrowed  light,  and 
make  us  feel,  after  having  enjoyed  her  society,  as  if 
we  had  been  introduced  to  a  new  and  more  intelligent 
existence  than  we  had  enjoyed  before. 

4.  But  it  would  be  impossible  for  an  ignorant,  and, 
consequently,  a  short-sighted,  prejudiced  woman,  to  ex- 
ercise this  influence  over  us.  We  soon  perceive  the 
bounds  of  the  narrow  circle  within  which  she  reasons 
with  self,  even  in  the  center :  we  detect  the  opinions  of 
others  in  her  own,  and  we  feel  the  vulgarity  with  which 
her  remarks  may  turn  upon  ourselves  the  moment  we 
are  absent. 

5.  But  how  different  is  the  enjoyment,  the  repose  we 
feel,  in  the  society  of  a  well-informed  woman,  who  has 
acquired,  in  early  youth,  the  habit  of  looking  beyond 
the  little  affairs  of  every-day  existence — from  matter  to 
mind,  from  action  to  principle,  from  time  to  eternity ! 
The  gossip  of  society,  that  many-toned  organ  of  discord, 
seldom  reaches  her ;  even  slander,  which  so  often  slays 
the  innocent,  she  is  in  many  cases  able  to  discern. 

6.  Under  all  the  little  crosses  and  perplexities  which 


WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER.         199 

necessarily  belong  to  household  care,  she  is  able  to  look 
calmly  at  their  comparative  insignificance,  and  thus  they 
can  never  disturb  her  peace ;  while,  in  all  the  pleasures 
of  intellectual  and  social  intercourse,  it  is  her  privilege 
to  give  as  bountifully  as  she  receives.  Mrs<  Ellis 


LESSON  LXXXIII. 

A    FRIEND. 

1.  Celestial  Happiness !  whene'er  she  stoops 
To  visit  earth,  one  shrine  the  goddess  finds, 
And  one  alone,  to  make  her  sweet  amends 
For  absent  heaven :  the  bosom  of  a  friend.— Youno. 

2.  When  the  sad  mind,  oppressed  with  care, 

Stands  tottering  with  a  load  of  grief, 
And  prospects  black  point  to  despair, 
What  form  is  that  which  holds  relief? 

A  Friend. 

3.  When  pain  and  anguish  rack  the  frame, 

Extort  the  groan,  or  heave  the  sigh ; 
When  fever  sucks  the  vital  flame, 
What  can  illume  the  deep-sunk  eye  ? 

A  Friend. 

4.  When  doubt  or  fear  o'erwhelms  the  mind, 

And  darkness  thick  obscures  the  ray, 
Whose  kind  advice  will  help  to  find, 
Who  mark  the  road  to  wisdom's  way  ? 

A  Friend, 

5.  When  calumny  base,  with  snaky  tongue 

And  poisonous  slander,  slime  the  name ; 


200  WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER. 

What  soul  starts  forth  to  share  the  wrong : 
Who's  champion  then  for  injured  fame? 

A  Friend. 

6.  Is  beauty  gone  ?  are  riches  fled  ? 

Do  adverse  gales  blow  bleak  and  fast  ? 
Who'll  pillow  poverty's  lone  head, 
And  fondly  lull  each  care  to  rest  ? 

A  Friend. 

7.  Does  folly  taint  old  age  or  youth  ? 

Do  foul  affections  clog  the  soul  ? 

Who  kindly  points  the  path  to  truth : 

Who  dares  our  errors  to  control  ? 

A  Friend. 

8.  And  who  in  sweetest  hours  of  mirth, — 

Who,  who  can  highten  every  joy, 
Add  bliss  to  bliss,  make  heaven  of  earth, 
Give  pleasure  zest  without  alloy  ? 

A  Friend. 

9.  Who,  in  retirement's  lonely  shade, 

Can  give  to  Nature  charms  more  sweet ; 
Enchantment  add  to  every  glade. 
And  fill  with  life  each  soft  retreat  ? 

A  Friend. 

10.  At  length,  when  death  with  sturdy  gloom 

And  meager  aspect  stalks  in  view ; 
Who'll  smooth  the  passage  to  the  tomb, 
And  kiss  a  sweet — a  sad  adieu  ? 

A  Friend. 

11.  Say,  every  heart ; — say,  angels  ;  say, 

Is  there  a  name  than  Friend  more  dear  ? 
When  guilty  man  despairing  lay,  • 

What  name  did  then  the  Savior  bear  ? 

A  Friend. 


WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER.         201 

12.  A  Friend  ! — 0  God  ;  a  Friend  most  dear, 

Though  others  false,  or  change  to  dust, 
Or  distant  far, — still  Thou  art  near, 
Forever  kind,  and  true,  and  just — 

A  Friend. 

13.  Then  come,  dear  Jesus !  seize  my  heart, 

And  other  friends  no  more  I'll  mourn  ; 
Content  with  all  for  Thee  to  part, 

Till  death  safe  lands  me  in  Thy  bourne. 


LESSON  LXXXIV. 

COLUMBUS. 
Written  by  Miss  Lucretia  M.  Davidson  in  her  sixteenth  year. 

1.  What  must  have  been  the  feelings  of  Christopher 
Columbus,  when,  for  the  first  time,  he  knelt  and  clasped 
his  hands,  in  gratitude,  upon  the  shores  of  his  newly- 
discovered  world  ?  Year  after  year  has  rolled  away ; 
war,  famine,  and  fire  have  alternately  swept  the  face  of 
that  country  ;  the  hand  of  tyranny  hath  oppressed  it ; 
the  footstep  of  the  slave  hath  wearily  trodden  it ;  the 
blood  of  the  slaughtered  hath  dyed  it ;  the  tears  of  the 
wretched  have  bedewed  it ;  still,  even  at  this  remote 
period,  every  feeling  bosom  will  delight  to  dwell  upon 
this  brilliant  era  in  the  life  of  the  persevering  adven- 
turer. 

2.  At  that  moment  his  name  was  stamped  upon  the 
records  of  history  forever ;  at  that  moment,  doubt,  fear, 
and  anxiety  fled,  for  his  foot  had  pressed  upon  the 
threshold  of  the  promised  land.  The  bosom  of  Colum- 
bus hath  long  since  ceased  to  beat — its  hopes,  its  fears, 
its  projects,  sleep,  with  him,  the  long  and  dreamless 


202         WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER. 

slumber  of  the  grave  :  but  while  there  remains  one  gen- 
erous pulsation  in  the  human  breast,  his  name  and  his 
memory  will  be  held  sacred. 

3.  When  the  cold  dews  of  uncertainty  stood  upon  his 
brow ;  when  he  beheld  nothing  but  the  wide  heavens 
above,  the  boundless  waters  beneath  and  around  him, — 
himself  and  his  companions  in  that  little  bark,  the  only 
beings  upon  the  endless  world  of  sky  and  ocean ;  when 
he  looked  back  and  thought  upon  his  native  land ;  when 
he  looked  forward,  and  in  vain  traversed  the  liquid  des- 
ert, for  some  spot  upon  which  to  fix  the  aching  eye  of 
anxiety  ;  oh !  say,  amidst  all  these  dangers,  these  uncer- 
tainties, whence  came  that  high  unbending  hope,  which 
still  soared  onward  to  the  world  before  him  ?  whence 
that  undying  patience,  that  more  than  mortal  courage, 
which  forbade  his  cheek  to  blanch  amid  the  storm,  or  his 
heart  to  recoil  in  the  dark  and  silent  hour  of  midnight  ? 

4.  It  was  from  God — it  was  of  God !  His  Spirit  over- 
shadowed the  adventurer !  By  day,  an  unseen  cloud  di- 
rected him — by  night,  a  brilliant,  but  invisible  column 
moved  before  him,  gleaming  athwart  the  boundless 
waste  of  waters.  The  winds  watched  over  him,  and 
waves  upheld  him,  for  God  was  with  him, — the  whirl- 
wind passed  over  his  little  bark,  and  left  it  still  riding 
onward,  in  safety,  toward  its  unknown  harbor, — for  the 
eye  of  Him  who  pierces  the  deep  was  fixed  upon  it. 

5.  Columbus  had  hoped,  feared,  and  had  been  disap- 
pointed ;  he  had  suffered  long  and  patiently  ;  he  had 
strained  every  faculty,  every  nerve ;  he  had  pledged  his 
very  happiness  upon  the  discovery  of  an  unknown  land  ; 
and  what  must  have  been  the  feelings  of  his  soul,  when, 
at  length  bending  over  that  very  land,  his  grateful 
bosom  offered  its  tribute  of  praise  and  thanksgiving  to 
the  Being  who  had  guarded  and  guided  him  through 
death  and  danger  ? 


WEBB'S  FOURTH  EEADER.         203 

6.  He  beheld  the  bitter  smile  of  scorn  and  derision 
fade  before  the  reality  of  that  vision,  which  had  been 
ridiculed  and  mocked  at ;  he  thought  upon  the  thousand 
obstacles  which  he  had  surmounted;  he  thought  upon 
those  who  had  regarded  him  as  a  self-devoted  enthusiast 
— a  visionary  madman,  and  his  full  heart  throbbed  in 
gratitude  to  Him  whose  Spirit  had  inspired  him,  whose 
voice  had  sent  him  forth,  and  whose  arm  had  protected 
him. 


LESSON  LXXXV. 

THE  WISH. 

Tell  me,  ye  winged  winds, 

That  round  my  pathway  roar, 
Do  you  not  know  some  spot 

Where  mortals  weep  no  more  ? 
Some  lone  and  pleasant  dell — 

Some  valley  in  the  West, 
Where  free  from  toil  and  pain, 

The  weary  soul  may  rest  ? 
The  loud  wind  softened  to  a  whisper  low, 
And  sighed  for  pity,  as  it  answered,  "  No  !" 

Tell  me,  thou  mighty  deep, 

Whose  billows  'round  me  play, 
Know'st  thou  some  favored  spot — 

Some  island,  far  away, 
Where  weary  man  might  find 

The  bliss  for  which  he  sighs ; 
Where  sorrow  never  lives, 

And  friendship  never  dies  ? 
The  loud  waves  rolling  in  perpetual  flow, 
Stopped  for  a  while,  and  sighed  to  answer  "  No  r 


204         WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER. 

And  thou,  serenest  moon, 

That  with  such  holy  face 
Dost  look  upon  the  earth, 

Asleep  in  night's  embrace. 
Tell  me,  in  all  thy  round, 

Hast  thou  not  seen  some  spot 
Where  miserable  man 

Might  find  a  happier  lot  ? 
Behind  a  cloud,  the  moon  withdrew  in  woe, 
And  a  sweet  voice,  but  sad,  responded,  "  No !" 

Tell  me,  my  secret  soul, 

Oh,  tell  me,  Hope  and  Faith, 
Is  there  no  resting-place 

From  sorrow,  sin,  and  death  ? 
Is  there  no  happy  spot 

Where  man  is  fully  blest, 
Where  grief  may  find  a  balm, 
And  weariness  a  rest  ? 
Faith,  Hope,  and  Love — best  boons  to  mortals  given, 
Waved  their  bright  wings,  and  whispered,  "  Yes  !  in  Heaven." 

Chjlkues  Mackay. 


LESSON  LXXXYI. 

ADDRESS    TO     YOUNG    MEN. 

1.  Could  I  call  around  me,  in  one  vast  assembly,  the 
young  men  of  this  nation,  I  would  say — Hopes  of  my 
country,  blessed  be  ye  of  the  Lord,  now  in  the  day  of 
your  youth.  But  look  well  to  your  footsteps  ;  for  vipers, 
and  scorpions,  and  adders,  surround  your  way.  Look 
at  the  generations  that  have  just  preceded  you. 

2.  The  morning  of  their  life  was  cloudless,  and  it 
dawned  as  brightly  as  your  own.     But  behold,  now,  the 


WEBB'S  FOURTH  KEADER.         205 

smitten,  enfeebled,  inflamed,  debauched,  idle,  poor,  irre- 
ligious, and  vicious,  with  halting  step,  dragging  onward 
to  meet  an  early  grave ! 

3.  Their  bright  prospects  are  cfouded,  and  their  sun 
is  set,  never  to  rise.  No  house  of  their  own  receives 
them,  while  from  poorer  to  poorer  tenements  they  de- 
scend, as  improvidence  dries  up  their  resources.  And, 
now,  who  are  those  that  wait  on  their  footsteps  with 
muffled  faces  and  sable  garments  ? 

4.  That  is  a  father,  and  that  is  a  mother,  whose  gray 
hairs  are  going  with  sorrow  to  the  grave.  That  is  a 
sister,  weeping  over  evils  which  she  can  not  arrest ;  and 
there  is  the  broken-hearted  wife  ;  and  these  are  the  chil- 
dren :  helpless  innocents ! — for  whom  their  father  has 
provided  no  inheritance,  only  one  of  dishonor,  and  na- 
kedness, and  woe ! 

5.  And  is  this,  beloved  youth,  to  be  the  history  of  your 
course?  Is  this  the  poverty,  and  the  disease,  which, 
as  an  armed  man,  shall  take  hold  of  you  ?  and  are  your 
relatives  and  friends  to  succeed  those  who  now  move  on 
in  this  mournful  procession,  weeping  as  they  go  ? 

6.  Yes ;  bright  as  your  morning  now  opens,  and  high 
as  your  hopes  now  beat,  this  will  be  your  noon,  and  your 
night,  unless  you  shun  those  habits  of  intemperance 
which  have  thus  early  made  theirs  a  day  of  clouds  and  of 
thick  darkness. 

7.  If  you  frequent  places  of  evening  resort  for  social 
drinking ;  if  you  set  out  with  drinking,  daily,  a  little, 
prudently,  temperately ;  it  is  yourselves,  which,  as  in  a 
glass,  you  behold ! 


18 


206  WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER. 

LESSON    LXXXVII. 

TO     MY     MOTHER     IN     HEAVEN. 

1.  I  know  thou  art  gone  to  the  land  of  thy  rest ; 

Then  why  should  my  soul  be  so  sad  ? 
I  know  thou  art  gone  where  the  weary  are  blest, 

And  the  mourner  looks  up  and  is  glad ; 
Where  Love  has  put  off  in  the  land  of  its  birth, 

The  stain  it  had  gathered  in  this, 
And  Hope,  the  sweet  singer  that  gladden'd  the  earth, 

Lies  asleep  in  the  bosom  of  bliss. 

2.  I  know  thou  art  gone  where  thy  forehead  is  starr'd 

With  the  beauty  that  dwelt  in  thy  soul, 
Where  the  light  of  thy  loveliness  can  not  be  marred, 

Nor  thy  heart  be  flung  back  from  its  goal ; 
I  know  thou  hast  drunk  of  the  Lethe  that  flows 

Through  a  land  where  they  do  not  forget ; 
That  sheds  over  memory  only  repose, 

And  takes  from  it  only  regret. 

3.  This  eye  must  be  dark  that  so  long  has  been  dim, 

Ere  again  it  may  gaze  upon  thine ; 
But  my  heart  has  reveal ings  of  thee  and  thy  home, 

In  many  a  token  and  sign  ; 
I  never  look  up  with  a  vow,  to  the  sky, 

But  a  light  like  thy  beauty  is  there ; 
And  I  hear  a  love  murmur,  like  thine,  in  reply, 

When  I  pour  out  my  spirit  in  prayer. 

4.  In  the  far-away  dwelling,  wherever  it  be, 

I  believe  thou  hast  visions  of  mine ; 
And  the  love  that  made  all  things  as  music  to  me, 
I  have  not  yet  learned  to  resign. 


WEBB'S  FOURTH  HEADER.         207 

In  the  hush  of  the  night,  on  the  waste  of  the  sea, 

Or  alone  with  the  breeze  on  the  hill, 
I  have  ever  a  presence  that  whispers  of  thee, 

And  my  spirit  lies  down  and  is  still. 

5.  And  though  like  a  mourner  that  sits  by  a  tomb, 
I  am  wrapped  in  a  mantle  of  care, 
Yet  the  grief  of  my  bosom — oh  !  call  it  not  gloom- 
Is  not  the  black  grief  of  despair. 
By  sorrow  revealed  as  the  stars  are  by  night, 

Far  off  a  bright  vision  appears ; 
And  Hope,  like  the  rainbow — a  creature  of  light, 
Is  bDrn,  like  the  rainbow,  in  tears. 

E.  K.  Hervey. 


LESSON  LXXXYIII. 

THE     DEATH-BED     OP     CROMWELL. 

1  At  length,  the  last  night  drew  on  that  was  to  usher 
in  1  is  fortunate  day.  The  3d  of  September,  the  anni- 
ver  rary  of  Dunbar  and  of  Marston,  came  amid  wind  and 
sto  m.  In  this  solemn  hour  for  England,  strong  hearts 
wtre  everywhere  beseeching  Heaven  to  spare  the  Pro- 
testor ;  but  the  King  of  kings  had  issued  his  decree, 
aud  the  spirit  that  had  endured  and  toiled  so  long  was 
already,  gathering  its  pinions  for  eternity. 

2.  "  It  is  a  fearful  thing  to  fall  into  the  hands  of  the 
living  God,"  broke  from  his  pallid  lips,  and  then  he  fell, 
in  solemn  faith,  on  the  covenant  of  grace.  His  breath 
came  difficult  and  thick  ;  but,  amid  the  pauses  of  the 
storm,  he  was  heard  murmuring,  "  Truly,  God  is  good ; 

indeed  He  is  ;  He  will  not his  tongue  failed  him ; 

but  says  an  eye-witness,  "  I  apprehend  it  was,  '  He  will 
not  leave  me.'  " 


208  WEBB'S  FOURTH  PwEADER. 

3.  Again  and  again,  there  escaped  from  the  ever-mov- 
ing lips  the  half-articulate  words,  "  God  is  good — God  is 
good."  Once,  with  sudden  energy,  he  exclaimed,  "  I 
would  be  willing  to  live,  to  be  further  serviceable  to 
God,  but  my  work  is  done.  Yet  God  will  be  with  His 
people."  All  night  long,  he  murmured  thus  to  himself 
of  God  ;  showing  how  perfect  was  his  trust — how  strong 
his  faith.  Once,  as  some  drink  was  offered  him,  he 
said,  "It  is  not  my  design  to  drink  or  to  sleep  ;  but  my 
design  is  to  make  what  haste  I  can  to  be  gone." 

4.  While  this  scene  was  passing  in  that  solemn  cham- 
ber, all  was  wild  and  terrible  without.  Nature  seemed 
to  sympathize  with  the  dying  patriot  and  hero.  The 
wind  howled  and  roared  around  the  palace  ;  houses  were 
unroofed  ;  chimneys  blown  down  ;  and  the  trees  that 
had  stood  for  half  a  century  in  the  parks,  were  uptorn, 
and  strewn  over  the  earth.  The  sea,  too,  was  vexed  : 
the  waves  smote,  in  ungovernable  fury,  the  shores  of 
England,  and  vessels  lay  stranded  along  the  coasts  of  the 
Mediterranean. 

5.  But  all  was  calm  and  serene  around  the  dying  bed 
of  Cromwell.  On  that  more  than  kingly  brow,  peace, 
like  a  white-winged  dove,  sat ;  and  that  voice  which  had 
turned  the  tide  of  so  many  battles,  now  murmured  only 
prayers.  Bonaparte,  dying  in  the  midst  of  just  such  a 
storm,  shouted,  "  Tete  d'armee  /"  ("  head  of  the  army") 
as  his  gazing  eye  fell  once  more  on  the  heads  of  his 
mighty  columns  disappearing  in  the  smoke  of  battle ; 
but  Cromwell  took  a  nobler  departure. 

6.  The  storm  arid  uproar  without  brought  no  din  of 
arms  to  his  dying  ear ;  not  in  the  delirium  of  battle  did 
his  soul  burst  away  ;  but  with  his  eye  fixed  steadfastly 
on  the  eternal  kingdoms,  and  his  strong  heart  sweetly 
stayed  on  the  promise  of  a  faithful  God,  he  moved  from 
the  shore  of  time,  and  sank  from  sight  forever. 


WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER.         209 

7.  He  died  at  three  o'clock  that  day  ;  on  the  very  day 
which,  eight  years  before,  saw  his  sword  flashing  over 
the  tumultuous  field  of  Dunbar ;  the  same  which,  seven 
years  previous,  heard  him  shouting  on  the  ramparts  of 
Worcester.  But  this  was  the  last  and  most  terrible 
battle  of  all ;  yet  he  came  off  victorious,  and,  triumpn- 
ing  over  his  last  enemy,  Death,  passed  into  the  serene 
world,  where  the  sound  of  battle  never  comes,  and  the 
hatred  and  violence  of  man  never  disturb. 

J.  T.  Headlet. 


LESSON    LXXXIX. 

THE    SNOW-STORM. 

1.  In  the  month  of  December,  1821,  a  Mr.  Blake,  with 
his  wife  and  an  infant,  was  passing  over  the  Green 
Mountain,  near  the  town  of  Arlington,  Vermont,  in  a 
sleigh  with  one  horse.  The  drifting  snow  rendered  it 
impossible  for  the  horse  to  proceed.  Mr.  Blake  set  off 
on  foot  in  search  of  assistance,  and  perished  in  the  storm, 
before  he  could  reach  a  human  dwelling. 

2.  The  mother,  alarmed,  as  is  supposed,  at  his  long 
absence,  went  in  quest  of  him,  with  the  infant  in  her 
arms.  She  was  found,  in  the  morning,  dead,  a  short  dis- 
tance from  the  sleigh.  The  child  was  wrapped  in  her 
cloak,  and  survived  the  perils  of  the  cold  and  the  storm 

3.  The  cold  winds  swept  the  mountain's  hight, 

And  pathless  was  the  dreary  wild, 
And,  'mid  the  cheerless  hours  of  night, 

A  mother  wandered  with  her  child  : 
As  through  the  drifted  snow   she  pressed, 
The  babe  was  sleeping  on  her  breast ! 

18* 


210 


WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER. 


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WEBB'S  FOUKTH  EEADER.         211 

4.  And  colder  still  the  winds  did  blow, 

And  darker  hours  of  night  came  on, 
And  deeper  grew  the  drifts  of  snow — 

Her  limbs  were  chilled,  her  strength  was  gone — 
"  0,  God !"  she  cried,  in  accents  wild, 
"  If  I  must  perish,  save  my  child  !" 

5.  She  stripped  her  mantle  from  her  breast, 

And  bared  her  bosom  to  the  storm, 
And  round  the  child  she  wrapped  the  vest, 

And  smiled,  to  think  her  babe  was  warm ! 
With  one  cold  kiss,  one  tear  she  shed, 
And  sunk  upon  a  snowy  bed. 

6.  At  dawn,  a  traveler  passed  by ; 

She  lay  beneath  a  snowy  vail ; 
The  frost  of  death  was  in  her  eye  ; 

Her  cheek  was  cold,  and  hard,  and  pale : 
He  moved  the  robe  from  off  the  child ; 
The  babe  looked  up,  and  sweetly  smiled ! 

Portland  Argus. 


LESSON   XC. 

DEATH     OF     WASHINGTON. 

[Extract  of  an  Address  on  the  Life  and  Character  of  Washington,  delivered  ai  East 
Granville,  Mass.,  Feb.  22d,  18*2,  by  Nelson  Sizer.] 

1.  On  the  12th  of  December,  1799,  disease  laid  a  heavy 
hand  upon  him.  Physicians  were  called  ;  yet  all  the 
remedies  which  their  united  wisdom  could  devise  were 
used  without  effect.  He  became  sensible,  on  the  14th, 
that  his  hour  had  come  ;  but  a  retrospect  of  the  past 
gave  no  pain,  in  the  finale  of  his  eventful  career. 

2.  The  same  placid  serenity  which  had  accompanied 


212         WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER. 

him  in  life — the  same  coolness  of  judgment — the  same 
Christian  confidence — lived,  in  all  their  strength,  in  the 
last  struggle  with  the  king  of  terrors.  "  /  die  hard," 
said  he  ;  "  but  I  am  not  afraid  to  die."  Truly,  this  was 
the  triumph  of  a  great  spirit. 

3.  He  could  say,  O,  Death !  thou  art  disrobed  of  thy 
terrors,  and  I  hail  thee  as  the  passport  to  a  better  life  ! 
A  heavenly  messenger  stooped  in  the  sacred  place,  and 
whispered, 

"  Come,  pilgrim,  come  away  !" 

Then,  like  a  placid  summer's  sun,  his  mortality  sank  into 
rest,  and  a  "  spirit,  bright  as  the  seraphim  that  surround 
the  throne  of  Omnipotence,"  ascended  to  the  bosom  of 
its  God ! 

4.  Washington  is  dead !  Mourning  fills  the  land : 
every  heart  is  touched  with  grief.  Sunny  childhood  in- 
hales the  sympathy  of  sorrow  from  its  sire,  and  they 
mingle  their  tears  in  one  common  urn.  His  body  re- 
poses in  the  tomb  at  Mount  Vernon ;  his  spirit  blaze? 
around  the  eternal  throne. 

5.  His  memory  is  garnered  in  the  hearts  of  his  grate 
ful  countrymen ;  and  his  whole  character,  like  a  pyra 
mid  of  glass  blazing  in  immortal  light,  is  the  admiration 
of  men  and  of  angels,  and  shall  stand  unscathed  till  the 
requiem  of  Time  shall  be  sounded,  and  mortality  lost  in 
the  ocean  of  eternity. 

6.  Washington  is  dead !  Dead  ?  No  !  he  lives  for- 
ever— lives  in  every  lover  of  liberty  throughout  the 
world — lives  in  our  free  institutions — lives  in  virtue's 
shrine  !  His  memory  is  as  imperishable  as  the  iron  hills 
of  Columbia,  which  sleep  above  the  clouds,  and  as  last- 
ing as  the  mind  of  man. 

7.  His  name  is  emblazoned  on  the  rustling  folds  of 
the  banner  of  Liberty,  as  it  floats  in  the  breezes  of  heaven, 


WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER.         213 

from  the  towering  masts  of  our  earth-encircling  com- 
merce, or  waves  over  the  domes  of  freedom  in  the  home 
of  the  brave. 

8.  Forgotten  ?  Never !  The  rising  glory  of  this 
vast  republic — the  voices  of  fifteen  millions  of  happy 
free — proclaim  his  name  immortal.  It  is  engraven  upon 
the  door-cap  of  church,  cot,  and  mansion,  as  with  a 
diamond's  point,  in  immortal  adamant ! 

9.  Sacred  the  day  that  gave  him  birth !  the  glorious 
caieer!  the  triumphant  exit!  Like  a  blazing  star  of 
promise,  it  sheds  its  steady  light;  and  the  north,  the 
south,  the  east,  and  the  west,  are  catching  its  effulgence 
like  the  dawn  of  morning,  and  the  sighing  sons  of  oppres- 
sion hail  it  as  the  beacon  of  deliverance. 

10.  "  To  live  with  fame, 

The  gods  allow  to  many ;  but  to  die 
With  equal  luster,  is  a  blessing  Heaven 
Selects  from  all  the  choicest  boons  of  fate, 
And  with  a  sparing  hand  on  few  bestows." 

11.  Poor  is  the  tribute  we  can  bring.  "His  monu- 
ment is  the  freedom  of  his  country,  and  his  eulogy,  the 
praise  of  ransomed  millions."  Who  would  not  prefer 
this  living  tomb — this  holy  embalming  in  the  hearts  of 
his  countrymen — to  the  proudest  monument  that  the 
genius  of  sculpture  could  erect  ? 

12.  Greenough  may  give  the  finishing  touch  of  sculp- 
ture to  his  colossal  statue  (it  shows  a  nation's  grati- 
tude), but  his  memory  will  outlive  the  solid  marble.  It 
is  engraven  on  the  affections,  and  time  can  not  efface 
it.  His  fame  is  beyond  the  reach  of  detraction.  The 
tongue  that  would  dare  to  depress  him  no  longer  exists. 

13.  "I  would  place  another  wreath  on  his  brow,  if  a 
leaf  of  the  one  he  now  wears  could  yield  to  the  frosts  of 
a  million  of  ages."     But  why  attempt  the  language  of 


214         WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER. 

eulogy  for  the  immortal  Washington  ?  Had  I  at  com- 
mand the  combined  intellect  of  a  Bacon,  a  Jefferson,  and 
a  Webster,  united  with  the  burning  eloquence  of  Demos- 
thenes, Cicero,  and  Henry,  I  could  but  stand  upon  the 
shore  and  point  to  the  broad  ocean  of  his  greatness  that 
rolls  before  me.     Eulogy  itself  is  dumb: — 

"  He  stands  alone ;  there  is  but  one 
In  all  this  world — one  Washington  !" 


LESSON    XCI. 

NIAGARA       FALLS. 

1.  Hail!  Monarch  of  the  World  of  Floods!  whose  majesty 

and  might 
First  dazzles,  then  enraptures,  then  o'erawes  the  aching 

sight : 
The  pomp  of  kings  and  emperors,  in  every  clime  and  zone, 
Grows  dim  beneath  the  splendors  of   thy  glorious  watery 

throne. 

2.  No  fleets  can  stop  thy  progress,  no  armies  bid  thee  stay, 
But    onward,  onward,  onward — thy  march  still  holds  its 

sway; 
The  rising  mist  that  vails  thee,  as  thy  herald  goes  before, 
And  the  music  that  proclaims  thee,  is  the  thundering  cata- 
ract's roar. 

8.  Thy  diadem  is  an  emerald  green,  of  the  clearest,  purest  hue, 
Set  'round  with  waves  of  snow-white  foam,  and  spray  of 

feathery  dew  ; 
White  tresses  of  the  brightest  pearls  float  o'er  thine  ample 

sheet, 
And  the  rainbow  lays  its  gorgeous  gems  in  tribute  at  thy 

feet. 


WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER.         215 

4.  Thy  reign  is  from  the  ancient  days,  thy  scepter  from  on 

high  ; 
Thy  birth  was  when  the  distant  stars  first  lit  the  glowing 

sky; 
The  sun,  the  moon,  and  all  the  orbs  that  shine  upon  thee 

now, 
Saw  the  first  wreath  of  glory  tjiat  entwined  thy  infant  brow. 

5.  And    from  that  hour  to   this,  in  which  I  gaze  upon  thy 

stream, 
From  age  to  age,  in  Winter's  frost,  in  Summer's  sultry  beam, 
By  day,  by  night,  without  a  pause,  thy  waves,  with  loud 

acclaim, 
In  ceaseless  sounds,  have  still  proclaimed  the  great  Eternal's 

name. 

6.  For  whether  on  thy  forest  banks,  the  Indian  of  the  wood, 
Or,  since  his  day,  the  red  man's  foe  on  his  fatherland  have 

stood, 
Whoe'er  has  seen  thy  incense  rise,  or  heard  thy  torrents 

roar, 
Must  have  bent  before  the  God  of  all,  to  worship  and  adore. 

1.  Accept,  then,  O,  Supremely  Great !  0,  Infinite  !  0,  God  ! 
From  this  primeval  altar,  the  pure  and  virgin  sod, 
The  humble  homage  that  my  soul,  in  gratitude,  would  pay 
To  Thee,  whose  shield  has  guarded  me,  in  all  my  wand'ring 
way. 

8.  For,  if  the  ocean  be  as  naught  in  the  hollow  of  Thy  hand, 
And   the  stars  of  the  bright  firmament,  in  Thy  balance, 

grains  of  sand ; 
If  Niagara's  rolling  flood  seem  great  to  us,  who  humbly 

bow, 
0,  Great  Creator  of  the  whole  !  how  passing  great  art  Thou  ! 

9.  But  though  Thy  power  is  far  more  vast  than  finite  minds 

can  scan, 
Still  greater  is  Thy  mercy  shown  to  weak,  dependent  man  ; 


216         WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER. 

For  him,  Thou  clothest  the  fertile  globe  with  herbs,  and 

fruit,  and  seed — 
For  him,  the  seas,  the  lakes,  the  streams,  supply  his  hourly 

need. 

10.  Around,  on  high,  or  far,  or  near,  the  universal  whole 

Proclaims  Thy  glory,  as  the  stars  in  their  fixed  courses  roll ; 
And  from  creation's  grateful  voice,  the  hymn  ascends  above, 
While  heaven  re-echoes  back  to  earth  the  chorus,  "  God  is 
Love." 

J.  S.  Buckingham. 


LESSON    XCII. 

DEATH     OF     ABSALOM. 

1.  And  David  numbered  the  people  that  were  with 
him,  and  set  captains  of  thousands  and  captains  of  hun- 
dreds over  them.  And  David  sent  forth  a  third  part  of 
the  people  under  the  hand  of  Joab,  and  a  third  part 
under  the  hand  of  Abishai,  the  son  of  Zeruiah,  Joab's 
brother,  and  a  third  part  under  the  hand  of  Ittai  the 
Gittite. 

2.  And  the  king  said  unto  the  people,  I  will  surely  go 
forth  with  you  myself  also.  But  the  people  answered, 
Thou  shalt  not  go  forth  :  for  if  we  flee  away,  they  will 
not  care  for  us  ;  neither  if  half  of  us  die,  will  they  care 
for  us ;  but  now  thou  art  worth  ten  thousand  of  us  ; 
therefore  now  it  is  better  that  thou  succor  us  out  of  the 
city.  And  the  king  said  unto  them,  What  seemeth  you 
best,  I  will  do. 

3.  And  the  king  stood  by  the  gate-side,  and  all  the 
people  came  out  by  hundreds  and  by  thousands.  And 
the  king  commanded  Joab,  and  Abishai,  and  Ittai,  say- 
ing, Deal  gently,  for  my  sake,  with  the  young  man,  even 

u«  ■  »    ■■  *  


WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER.  217 

with  Absalom.     And  all  the  people  heard  when  the  king 
gave  all  the  captains  charge  concerning  Absalom. 

4.  So  the  people  went  out  into  the  field  against  Israel ; 
and  the  battle  was  in  the  wood  of  Ephraim  ;  where  the 
people  of  Israel  were  slain  before  the  servants  of  David, 
and  there  was  there  a  great  slaughter  that  day  of  twenty 
thousand  men.  For  the  battle  was  there  scattered  over 
the  face  of  all  the  country  ;  and  the  wood  devoured  more 
people  that  day  than  the  sword  devoured. 

5.  And  Absalom  met  the  servants  of  David.  And 
Absalom  rode  upon  a  mule,  and  the  mule  went  under 
the  thick  boughs  of  a  great  oak,  and  his  head  caught  hold 
of  the  oak,  and  he  was  taken  up  between  the  heaven  and 
the  earth  ;  and  the  mule  that  was  under  him  went  away. 

6.  And  a  certain  man  saw  it,  and  told  Joab,  and  said, 
Behold,  I  saw  Absalom  hanged  in  an  oak.  And  Joab 
said  unto  the  man  that  told  him,  And  behold,  thou  saw- 
est  him,  and  why  didst  thou  not  smite  him  there  to  the 
ground  ?  and  I  would  have  given  thee  ten  shekels  of 
silver  and  a  girdle. 

7.  And  the  man  said  unto  Joab,  Though  I  should  re- 
ceive a  thousand  shekels  of  silver  in  my  hand,  yet  would 
I  not  put  forth  my  hand  against  the  king's  son  ;  for,  in 
our  hearing,  the  king  charged  thee  and  Abishai,  and 
Ittai,  saying,  Beware  that  none  touch  the  young  man 
Absalom.  Otherwise,  I  should  have  wrought  falsehood 
against  mine  own  life  ,  for  there  is  no  matter  hid  from 
the  king,  and  thou  thyself  wouldst  have  set  thyself  against 
me. 

8.  Then  said  Joab,  1  may  not  tarry  thus  with  thee. 
And  he  took  three  darts  in  his  hand,  and  thrust  them 
through  the  heart  of  Absalom,  while  he  was  yet  alive  in 
the  midst  of  the  oak.  And  ten  young  men  that  bare 
Joab's  armor  compassed  about,  and  smote  Absalom,  and 
slew  him.     And  Joab  blew  the  trumpet,  and  the  people 

19 


218         WEBB'S  FOURTH  READEK. 

returned  from  pursuing  after  Israel ;  for  Joab  held  back 
the  people. 

9.  And  they  took  Absalom,  and  cast  him  into  a  great 
pit  in  the  wood,  and  laid  a  very  great  heap  of  stones 
upon  him ;  and  all  Israel  fled,  every  one  to  his  tent. 
Now  Absalom,  in  his  life-time,  had  taken  and  reared  up 
for  himself  a  pillar,  which  is  in  the  king's  dale  ;  for  he 
said,  I  have  no  son  to  keep  my  name  in  remembrance ; 
and  he  called  the  pillar  after  his  own  name ;  and  it  is 
called  unto  this  day,  Absalom's  Place. 

10.  Then  said  Ahimaaz,  the  son  of  Zadok,  Let  me  now 
run,  and  bear  the  king  tidings,  how  that  the  Lord  hath 
avenged  him  of  his  enemies.  And  Joab  said  unto  him, 
Thou  shalt  not  bear  tidings  this  day,  but  thou  shalt  bear 
tidings  another  day ;  but  this  day  thou  shalt  bear  no 
tidings,  because  the  king's  son  is  dead.  Then  said  Joab 
to  Cushi,  Go  tell  the  king  what  thou  hast  seen.  And 
Cushi  bowed  himself  unto  Joab,  and  ran. 

11.  Then  said  Ahimaaz,  the  son  of  Zadok,  yet  again 
to  Joab,  But  howsoever,  let  me,  I  pray  thee,  also  run 
after  Cushi.  And  Joab  said,  Wherefore  wilt  thou  run, 
my  son,  seeing  that  thou  hast  no  tidings  ready  ?  But 
howsoever,  said  he,  let  me  run.  And  he  said  unto  him. 
Run.  Then  Ahimaaz  ran  by  the  way  of  the  plain,  and 
overran  Cushi. 

12.  And  David  sat  between  the  two  gates  :  and  the 
watchman  went  up  to  the  roof  over  the  gate  unto  the 
wall,  and  lifted  up  his  eyes,  and  looked,  and  behold,  a  man 
running  alone.  And  the  watchman  cried,  and  told  the 
king.  And  the  king  said,  If  he  be  alone,  there  is  tidmgs 
in  his  mouth.     And  he  came  apace,  and  drew  near 

13.  And  the  watchman  saw  another  man  runping, 
and  the  watchman  called  unto  the  porter,  and  said  Be- 
hold, another  man  running  alone.  And  the  king  said, 
He  also  bringeth  tidings.     And  the  watchman  said.  Me- 


WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER.  219 

thinketh  the  running  of  the  foremost  is  like  the  running 
of  Ahimaaz,  the  son  of  Zadok.  And  the  king  said,  He 
is  a  good  man,  and  cometh  with  good  tidings. 

14.  And  Ahimaaz  called,  and  said  unto  the  king,  All 
is  well.  And  he  fell  down  to  the  earth  upon  his  face 
before  the  king,  and  said,  Blessed  be  the  Lord  thy  God, 
which  hath  delivered  up  the  men  that  lifted  up  their  hand 
against  my  lord  the  king.  And  the  king  said,  Is  the 
young  man  Absalom  safe  ?  And  Ahimaaz  answered, 
When  Joab  sent  the  king's  servant,  and  me  thy  servant, 
I  saw  a  great  tumult,  but  I  knew  not  what  it  was.  And 
the  king  said  unto  him,  Turn  aside  and  stand  here.  And 
he  turned  aside,  and  stood  still. 

15.  And  behold,  Cushi  came  ;  and  Cushi  said,  Tid- 
ings, my  lord  the  king  ;  for  the  Lord  hath  avenged  thee 
this  day  of  all  them  that  rose  up  against  thee.  And  the 
king  said  unto  Cushi,  Is  the  young  man  Absalom  safe? 
And  Cushi  answered,  The  enemies  of  my  lord  the  king, 
and  all  that  rise  against  thee  to  do  thee  hurt,  be  as  that 
young  man  is. 

16.  And  the  king  was  much  moved,  and  went  up  to 
the  chamber  over  the  gate,  and  wept ;  and  as  he  went, 
thus  he  said,  O  my  son  Absalom  !  my  son,  my  son  Ab- 
salom !  would  to  God  I  had  died  for  thee,  O  Absalom, 
my  son,  my  son!  Biblk 

17.  "  Alas  !  my  noble  boy,  that  thou  shouldst  die! 

Thou,  who  wert  made  so  beautifully  fair ! 
That  death  should  settle  in  thy  glorious  eye, 

And  leave  his  stillness  in  thy  clustering  hair! 
How  could  he  mark  thee  for  the  silent  tomb, 
My  proud  boy,  Absalom  ! 

1 8.  "  Cold  is  thy  brow,  my  son,  and  I  am  chill. 

As  to  my  bosom  I  have  tried  to  press  thee, 
How  was  I  wont  to  feel  my  pulses  thrill, 


220         WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER. 

Like  a  rich  harp -string,  yearning  to  caress  thee, 
And  hear  thy  sweet  '  My  father"  from  these  dumb 
And  cold  lips,  Absalom! 

19.  "  The  grave  hath  won  thee.     I  shall  hear  the  gush 

Of  music,  and  the  voices  of  the  young ; 
And  life  will  pass  me  in  the  mantling  blush, 

And  the  dark  tresses  to  the  soft  winds  flung ; 
But  thou  no  more,  with  thy  sweet  voice,  shalt  come 
To  meet  me,  Absalom ! 

20.  "  And,  0,  when  I  am  stricken,  and  my  heart, 

Like  a  bruised  reed,  is  waiting  to  be  broken, 
How  will  its  love  for  thee,  as  I  depart, 

♦Yearn  for  thine  ear  to  drink  its  last  deep  token ! 
It  were  so  sweet,  amid  death's  gathering  gloom, 
To  see  thee,  Absalom  ! 

21.  "  And  now,  farewell !     'Tis  hard  to  give  thee  up, 

With  death,  so  like  a  gentle  slumber,  on  thee : 
And  thy  dark  sin !     0,  I  could  drink  the  cup, 
If  from  this  woe  its  bitterness  had  won  thee. 
May  God  have  called  thee,  like  a  wanderer,  home, 
My  erring  Absalom  !" 

"Wiliis. 


LESSON   XCIII. 

COLONEL   ISAAC   HAYNES. 

1.  After  the  city  of  Charleston  had  fallen  into  the 
hands  of  Lord  Cornwallis,  his  lordship  issued  a  procla- 
mation, requiring  of  the  inhabitants  of  the  colony  that 
they  should  no  longer  take  part  in  the  contest,  but  con- 
tinue peaceably  at  their  homes,  and  they  should  be  most 
sacredly  protected  in  property  and  person. 


WEBB'S  FOUKTH  READEK.         221 

2.  This  was  accompanied  with  an  instrumer.t  of 
neutrality,  which  soon  obtained  the  signatures  of  many 
thousands  of  the  citizens  of  South  Carolina,  among  whom 
was  Colonel  Haynes,  who  now  conceived  that  he  was 
entitled  to  peace  and  security  for  his  family  and  for- 
tune. 

3.  But  it  was  not  long  before  Cornwallis  put  a  new 
construction  on  the  instrument  of  neutrality,  denomi- 
nating it  a  bond  of  allegiance  to  the  king,  and  called 
upon  all  who  had  signed  it  to  take  up  arms  against  the 
Rebels  !  threatening  to  treat  as  deserters  those  who 
refused !  This  fraudulent  proceeding  of  Lord  Corn- 
wallis aroused  the  indignation  of  every  honorable  and 
honest  man. 

4.  Colonel  Haynes  now  being  compelled,  in  violation 
of  the  most  solemn  compact,  to  take  up  arms,  resolved 
that  the  invaders  of  his  native  country  should  be  the 
objects  of  his  vengeance.  He  withdrew  from  the  British, 
and  was  invested  with  a  command  in  the  continental 
service;  but  it  was  soon  his  hard  fortune  to  be  captured 
by  the  enemy  and  carried  into  Charleston. 

5.  Lord  Rawdon,  the  commandant,  immediately  or- 
dered him  to  be  loaded  with  irons,  and  after  a  sort  of 
mock  trial,  he  was  sentenced  to  be  hung !  This  sen- 
tence seized  all  classes  of  people  with  horror  and  dismay. 
A  petition,  headed  by  the  British  Governor  Bull,  and 
signed  by  a  number  of  royalists,  was  presented  in  his 
behalf,  but  it  was  totally  disregarded. 

6.  The  ladies  of  Charleston,  both  whigs  and  tories, 
now  united  in  a  petition  to  Lord  Rawdon,  couched  in 
the  most  eloquent  and  moving  language,  praying  that 
the  valuable  life  of  Colonel  Haynes  might  be  spared; 
but  this  also  was  treated  with  neglect.  It  was  next 
proposed  that  Colonel  Haynes's  children  (the  mother 
had  recently  deceased)  should,  in  their  mourning  habili- 

19* 


222         WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER. 

ments,  be  presented  to  plead  for  the  life  of  their  only 
surviving  parent. 

7.  Being  introduced  into  his  presence,  they  fell  on 
their  knees,  and  with  clasped  hands  and  weeping  eyes 
they  lisped  their  father's  name,  and  pleaded  most  ear- 
nestly for  his  life,  but  in  vain :  the  unfeeling  man  was 
still  inexorable  !  His  son,  a  youth  of  thirteen,  was  per- 
mitted to  stay  with  his  father  in  prison,  who,  beholding 
his  only  parent  loaded  with  irons  and  condemned  to  die, 
was  overwhelmed  in  grief  and  sorrow. 

8.  "  Why,"  said  he,  "  my  son,  will  you  thus  break  your 
father's  heart  with  unavailing  sorrow  ?  Have  I  not 
often  told  you  we  came  into  this  world  to  prepare  for  a 
better  ?  For  that  better  life,  my  dear  boy,  your  father 
is  prepared.  Instead  then  of  weeping,  rejoice  with  me, 
my  son,  that  my  troubles  are  so  near  an  end.  To- 
morrow I  set  out  for  immortality.  You  will  accompany 
me  to  the  place  of  my  execution ;  and,  when  I  am  dead, 
take  and  bury  me  by  the  side  of  your  mother." 

9.  The  youth  here  fell  on  his  father's  neck,  crying, 
"  O  my  father !  my  father !  I  will  die  with  you !  I  will 
die  with  you !"  Colonel  Haynes  would  have  returned 
the  strong  embrace  of  his  son,  but,  alas !  his  hands  were 
confined  with  irons.  "  Live,"  said  he,  "  my  son,  live  to 
honor  God  by  a  good  life  ;  live  to  serve  your  coun- 
try ;  and  live  to  take  care  of  your  little  sisters  and 
brother !" 

10.  The  next  morning  Colonel  Haynes  was  conducted 
to  the  place  of  execution.  His  son  accompanied  him. 
As  soon  as  they  came  in  sight  of  the  gallows,  the  tat  her 
strengthened  himself,  and  said — "Now,  my  son,  show 
yourself  a  man!  That  tree  is  the  boundary  of  my  life, 
and  of  all  my  life's  sorrows.  Beyond  that,  the  wicked 
cease  from  troubling,  and  the  weary  are  at  rest.  Do 
not  lay  too  much  to  heart  my  separation  from  you  ;  it 


WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER.         223 

will  be  but  short.  It  was  but  lately  your  dear  mother 
died.  To-day  I  die,  and  you,  my  son,  though  but  young, 
must  shortly  follow  us."  "  Yes,  my  father,"  replied  the 
broken-hearted  youth,  "  I  shall  shortly  follow  you  ;  for 
indeed  I  feel  that  I  can  not  live  long." 

11.  On  seeing  therefore  his  father  in  the  hands  of  the 
executioner,  and  then  struggling  in  the  halter, — he  stood 
like  one  transfixed,  and  motionless  with  horror.  Till 
then  he  had  wept  incessantly,  but  as  soon  as  he  saw  that 
sight,  the  fountain  of  his  tears  was  stanched,  and  he 
never  wept  more.  He  died  insane,  and  in  his  last  mo- 
ments often  called  on  the  name  of  his  father  in  terms 
that  wrung  tears  from  the  hardest  hearts. 

3.  Al  le'  gi  ance,  faithfulness. 

6.  Couched,  expressed.     Ha  bil'  i  ments   dresses. 

7.  In  ex'  o  ra  ble,  unyielding. 

11.  Trans  fixed',  dead.     Stanched,  stopped. 


LESSON  XCIV. 

THE    RIGHT    TO    TAX    AMERICA. 

1.  "But,  Mr.  Speaker,  we  have  a  right  to  tax  Ameri- 
ca." Oh,  inestimable  right !  Oh,  wonderful,  transcend- 
ent right !  the  assertion  of  which  has  cost  this  country 
thirteen  provinces,  six  islands,  one  hundred  thousand 
lives,  and  seventy  millions  of  money. 

2.  Oh,  invaluable  right!  for  the  sake  of  which  we 
have  sacrificed  our  rank  among  nations,  our  importance 
abroad,  and  our  happiness  at  hom<^ !  Oh,  right !  more 
dear  to  us  than  our  existence,  which  has  already  cost  us 
so  much,  and  which  seems  likely  to  cost  us  our  all. 


224  WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER. 

3.  Infatuated  man !  miserable  and  undone  country ! 
not  to  know  that  the  claim  of  right,  without  the  power 
of  enforcing  it,  is  nugatory  and  idle.  We  have  a  right 
to  tax  America,  the  noble  lord  tells  us,  therefore  we 
ought  to  tax  America.  This  is  the  profound  logic  which 
comprises  the  whole  chain  of  his  reasoning. 

BUKKE. 


1.  Trans  cend'  ent,  surpassing. 

3.  In  fat'  u  a  ted,   affected  with  folly.    Nu'  ga  to  ry,  futile,  insignifi- 
cant. 


LESSON  XCV 


AFAR     IN     THE     DESERT, 


1.  Afar  in  the  desert  I  love  to  ride 

With  the  silent  Bush-boy  alone  by  my  side ; 

When  the  sorrows  of  life  the  soul  o'ercast, 

And  sick  of  the  Present  I  cling  to  the  Past ; 

When  the  eye  is  suffused  with  regretful  tears, 

From  the  fond  recollections  of  former  years, 

And  the  shadows  of  things  that  had  long  since  fled 

Flit  o'er  the  brain  like  ghosts  of  the  dead : 

Bright  visions  of  glory,  that  vanished  too  soon ; 

Day  dreams,  that  departed  e'er  manhood's  noon ; 

Attachment,  by  fate  or  by  falsehood  reft ; 

Companions  of  early  days,  lost  or  left ; 

And  my  native  land,  whose  magical  name, 

Thrills  to  the  heart  like  electric  flame ; 

The  home  of  my  childhood — the  haunts  of  my  prime — 

All  the  passions  and  scenes  of  that  rapturous  time, 

When  the  feelings  were  young  and  the  worVl  was  new, 

Like  the  fresh  bowers  of  Eden  unfolded  to  view : — 


WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER.         225 

All— all  now  forsaken — forgotten — foregone ! 

And  I — a  lone  exile — remembered  by  none  ; 

My  high  aims  abandoned — my  good  acts  undone — 

Aweary  of  all  that  is  under  the  sun, 

With  a  sadness  of  heart  which  no  stranger  may  scan, 

I  fly  to  the  Desert  afar  from  man. 

2.  Afar  in  the  desert  I  love  to  ride, 

With  the  silent  Bush-boy  alone  by  my  side ; 

When  the  wild  turmoil  of  this  wearisome  life, 

With  the  scenes  of  oppression,  corruption,  and  strife — 

The  proud  man's  frown  and  the  base  man's  fears — 

The  scorner's  laugh  and  the  sufferer's  tears — 

And  malice,  and  meanness — and  falseness  and  folly, 

Dispose  me  to  musing  and  dark  melancholy ; 

When  my  bosom  is  full,  and  my  thoughts  are  high, 

And  my  soul  is  sick  with  the  bondsman's  sigh — 

Oh  !  then  there  is  freedom,  and  joy,  and  pride, 

Afar  in  the  desert  alone  to  ride ! 

There  is  rapture  to  vault  on  the  champing  steed, 

And  to  bound  away  with  the  eagle's  speed ; 

With  the  death  fraught  fire-lock  in  my  hand — 

The  only  law  of  the  Desert  Land! 

3.  Afar  in  the  desert  I  love  to  ride, 

With  the  silent  Bush-boy  alone  by  my  side ; 
Away,  away,  in  the  wilderness  vast, 
Where  the  white  man's  foot  hath  never  passed, 
And.  the'quivered  Coranna  or  Bechuan 
Hath  scarcely  crossed  with  his  roving  clan ; 
And  region  of  emptiness,  howling  and  drear, 
Which  man  hath  abandoned  from  famine  and  fear ; 
Which  the  sucker  and  lizard  inhabit  alone, 
With  the  twilight  bat  from  the  yawny  stone ; 
Where  grass,  nor  herb,  nor  shrub  take  root, 
Save  poisonous  thorns  which  pierce  the  foot ; 

1Y* 


226      webb's  fourth  reader. 

And  the  bitter  melon  for  food  and  drink, 
Is  the  pilgrim's  fare  by  the  Salt  Lake  brink — 
A  region  of  drouth  where  no  river  glides, 
Nor  rippling  brook  with  its  grassy  sides — 
Where  sedgy  pool,  nor  bubbling  fount, 
Nor  tree,  nor  cloud,  nor  misty  mount 
Appears,  to  refresh  the  aching  eye ; 
But  the  barren  earth  and  the  burning  sky, 
And  the  black  horizon,  round  and  round, 
Spread — void  of  living  sight  or  sound. 

4.  And  here,  while  the  night-winds  around  me  sigh, 
And  the  stars  burn  bright  in  the  midnight  sky, 
As  I  sit  afar  by  the  desert  stone, 
Like  Elijah  at  Horeb's  cave  alone, 
A  still  small  voice  comes  through  the  wild, 
Like  a  father  consoling  his  fretful  child, 
Which  banishes  bitterness,  wrath,  and  fear, 
Saying — "Man  is  distant,  but  God  is  near." 


LESSON  XCVI. 

FOREST  TREES. 

1.  Nothing  so  much  adorns  the  face  of  the  landscape 
as  the  luxuriant  crowns  and  waving  branches  of  forest 
trees ;  and  nothing  could  mar  the  beauty  of  the  earth 
so  much  as  their  destruction.  They  are  the  ornaments 
of  creation,  and  the  symbols  of  human  life.  Eden  with- 
out them  would  not  have  been  a  paradise. 

2.  Many  of  the  sweetest  remembrances  and  associa- 
tions of  childhood  and  declining  age,  are  blended  with 
the  kind  and  protecting  shade  of  overhanging  boughs. 


WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER.         22? 

They  have  beautified  the  scenes  of  many  a  quiet  home, 
and  millions  of  young  and  innocent  hearts  have  gam- 
boled away  the  sunny  hours  of  infancy  amid  the  rural 
retreats  of  the  tangled  wood,  or  dreamed  of  elysian 
joys,  while  lulled  in  sleep  by  the  sylvan  harp  of  the 
shadowy  grove. 

3.  And  when  time  has  borne  the  pilgrim  of  life  far 
away  from  the  familiar  haunts  of  his  infant  years,  of  the 
thousand  fond  recollections  that  stand  portrayed  in  the 
faithful  glass  of  memory,  none  will  be  more  vivid,  or 
moie  welcome  than  that  of  a  favorite  oak  or  pine  stand- 
ing before  the  cottage  door  of  his  youth,  flashing  from 
its  verdant  robe  the  hot  and  dazzling  rays  of  noon,  and 
throwing  from  its  side  a  grateful  shade,  and  a  cooling 
breeze. 

4.  From  the  beginning  of  time  they  have  been  inti- 
mately connected  with  the  history  of  man :  the  tree  of 
life  saw  the  purity  and  holiness  of  his  first  estate ;  the 
tree  of  knowledge  witnessed  his  great  and  mournful  fall ; 
and  the  cedars  of  Lebanon  trembled  at  the  groans  of 
Calvary,  and  bowed  in  sorrow  as  they  beheld  the  infinite 
price  of  his  redemption. 

5.  It  is  a  refined  and  exalted  emotion  to  admire  the 
fresh  green  foliage  of  a  luxuriant  tree ;  and  there  is 
something  spiritual  in  the  lively  dance  of  the  fairy 
leaflets  as  they  keep  time  to  the  iEolian  music  that  plays 
with  heavenly  harmony  in  the  passing  breeze,  that 
speaks  a  soothing  power  to  the  wounded  heart,  and  the 
afflicted  soul. 

6.  The  majestic  oak,  rising  from  the  bosom  of  the 
earth  and  lifting  its  leafy  banner  to  the  sky,  is  an  elo- 
quent and  beautiful  testimony  of  a  Great  First  Cause, 
and  a  living  reproach  to  the  disciples  of  chance.  As  it 
stands  in  the  exuberance  of  its  pride  and  glory,  smiling 
in  the  beams  of  day,  nourished  by  the   maternal  soil, 


228         WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER. 

and  embraced  by  genial  airs,  it  is  an  impressive  emblem 
of  man  in  the  meridian  of  life  and  fullness  of  prosperity. 

7.  But  when  its  countless  leaves  grow  sick  with  chill- 
ing winds  and  biting  frosts,  and  assume  the  hectic  and 
changing  tints  of  expiring  life,  they  present  to  the  human 
heart  a  gorgeous  and  solemn  admonition  to  prepare  for 
that  fervent  and  final  fever,  that  shall  one  day  dry  up 
the  fountains  of  its  own  vitality ;  and  as  they  tremble 
for  a  moment  upon  the  parent  branch,  and  then  descend 
to  the  earth,  "  dust  to  dust"  is  the  sad  and  mournful 
language  of  their  fall — an  illustrated  lesson  from  which 
man  may  learn  his  own  mortality. 

8.  And  when  cold  and  lowering  skies  seem  to  mock 
its  desolation,  and  dismal  winds  howl  the  requiem  of  its 
departed  verdure,  then  the  stately  monarch  of  the  wood 
stands  forth  in  its  deep-rooted  strength,  as  if  defying  the 
tortures  of  the  tempest  and  the  wrath  of  the  gale,  till 
Spring  shall  again  gladden  the  earth  and  restore  its  life 
and  loveliness.  So  shall  the  virtuous  and  trusting  mortal 
that  endures  unmoved  the  temptations  of  time,  arise 
from  the  winter  of  the  tomb,  and  breathe  a  new  and 
endless  life  in  the  eternal  Spring  of  Immortality. 

Ezra  D.  Barker. 


2.  E  lys'  ian,  very  delightful.     Syl'  van,  pertaining  to  wood  or  grove. 

*l.  Gor'  geoua,  showy. 

8.  Re'  qui  em,  hymn  for  th$  dead. 


WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER.         229 

LESSON  XCVII. 
god's  ancient  sanctuaries. 

1.  Ah,  why- 
Should  we,  in  the  world's  riper  years,  neglect 
God's  ancient  sanctuaries,  and  adore 

Only  among  the  crowd,  and  under  roofs 

That  our  frail  hands  have  raised  !     Let  me,  at  least, 

Here,  in  the  shadow  of  this  aged  wood, 

Offer  one  hymn ;  thrice  happy,  if  it  find 

Acceptance  in  His  ear. 

2.  Father,  Thy  hand 
Hath  reared  these  venerable  columns.     Thou 

Didst  weave  this  verdant  roof.     Thou  didst  look  down 
Upon  the  naked  earth,  and,  forthwith,  rose 
All  these  fair  ranks  of  trees.     They  in  Thy  sun 
Budded,  and  shook  their  green  leaves  in  Thy  breeze, 
And  shot  toward  heaven.     The  century-living  crow, 
Whose  birth  was  in  their  tops,  grew  old  and  died 
Among  their  branches ;  till,  at  last,  they  stood, 
As  now  they  stand,  massy,  and  tall,  and  dark, 
Fit  shrine  for  humble  worshiper  to  hold 
Communion  with  his  Maker. 

3.  Here  are  seen 

No  traces  of  man's  pomp,  or  pride ;  no  silks 

Rustle,  no  jewels  shine,  nor  envious  eyes 

Encounter  ;  no  fantastic  carvings  show 

The  boast  of  our  vain  race  to  change  the  form 

Of  Thy  fair  works.     But  Thou  art  here ;  Thou  fill'st 

The  solitude.     Thou  art  in  the  soft  winds 

That  run  along  the  summits  of  these  trees 

In  music  ;  Thou  art  in  the  cooler  breath, 

That,  from  the  inmost  darkness  of  the  place, 

20 


230         WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER. 

Comes,  scarcely  felt ;  the  barky  trunks,  the  ground, 
The  fresh,  moist  ground,  are  all  instinct  with  Thee. 

4.  Here  is  continual  worship  ;  nature,  here, 
In  the  tranquillity  that  Thou  dost  love, 
Enjoys  Thy  presence.     Noiselessly,  around, 
From  perch  to  perch,  the  solitary  bird 

Passes ;  and  yon  clear  spring,  that,  'mid  its  herbs, 

Wells  softly  forth,  and  visits  the  strong  roots 

Of  half  the  mighty  forest,  tells  no  tale 

Of  all  the  good  it  does.     Thou  hast  not  left 

Thyself  without  a  witness,  in  these  shades, 

Of  Thy  perfections.     Grandeur,  strength,  and  grace, 

Are  here  to  speak  of  Thee.     This  mighty  oak, 

By  whose  immovable  stem  I  stand,  and  seem 

Almost  annihilated,  not  a  prince, 

In  all  the  proud  old  world  beyond  the  deep, 

E'er  wore  his  crown  as  loftily  as  he 

Wears  the  green  coronal  of  leaves,  with  which 

Thy  hand  has  graced  him. 

5.  Nestled  at  his  root 

Is  beauty,  such  as  blooms  not  in  the  glare 
Of  the  broad  sun.     That  delicate  forest  flower, 
With  scented  breath,  and  look  so  like  a  smile, 
Seems,  as  it  issues  from  the  shapeless  mold, 
An  emanation  of  the  indwelling  Life, 
A  visible  token  of  the  upholding  Love, 
That  are  the  soul  of  this  wide  universe. 
My  heart  is  awed  within  me,  when  I  think 
Of  the  great  miracle  that  still  goes  on, 
In  silence,  round  me ;  the  perpetual  work 
Of  Thy  creation,  finished,  yet  renewed 
Forever.     Written  on  Thy  works,  I  read 
The  lesson  of  Thy  own  eternity. 

6.  Lo !  all  grow  old  and  die  .  but  see,  again, 
How  on  the  faltering  footsteps  of  decay 


WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER.         231 

Youth  presses,  ever  gay  and  beautiful  youth, 
In  all  its  beautiful  forms.     These  lofty  trees 
Wave  not  less  proudly  that  their  ancestors 
Molder  beneath  them.     Oh,  there  is  not  lost 
One  of  earth's  charms  :  upon  her  bosom  yet, 
After  the  flight  of  untold  centuries, 
The  freshness  of  her  far  beginning  lies, 
And  yet  shall  lie.     Life  mocks  the  idle  hate 
Of  his  arch  enemy,  Death  ;  yea,  seats  himself 
Upon  the  sepulcher,  and  blooms  and  smiles ; 
And  of  the  triumphs  of  his  ghastly  foe 
Makes  his  own  nourishment.     For  he  came  forth 
From  Thine  own  bosom,  and  shall  have  no  end. 

7.  There  have  been  holy  men,  who  hid  themselves 
Deep  in  the  woody  wilderness,  and  gave 

Their  lives  to  thought  and  prayer,  till  they  outlived 
The  generation  born  with  them,  nor  seemed 
Less  aged  than  the  hoary  tre^s  and  rocks 
Around  them ;  and  there  have  been  holy  men, 
Who  deemed  it  were  not  well  to  pass  life  thus. 
But  let  me  often  to  these  solitudes 
Retire,  and  in  Thy  presence  reassure 
My  feeble  virtue.     Here,  its  enemies, 
The  passions,  at  thy  plainer  footsteps,  shrink, 
And  tremble,  and  are  still. 

8.  0  God !  when  Thou 

Dost  scare  the  world  with  tempests,  set  on  fire 
The  heavens  with  falling  thunderbolts,  or  fill 
With  all  the  waters  of  the  firmament, 
The  swift,  dark  whirlwind,  that  uproots  the  woods 
And  drowns  the  villages ;  when,  at  Thy  call, 
Uprises  the  great  deep,  and  throws  himself 
Upon  the  continent,  and  overwhelms 
Its  cities ; — who  forgets  not,  at  the  sight 
Of  these  tremendous  tokens  of  Thy  power, 


232         WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER. 

His  pride,  and  lays  his  strifes  and  follies  by  ? 
Oh,  from  these  sterner  aspects  of  Thy  face 
Spare  me  and  mine  ;  nor  let  us  need  the  wrath 
Of  the  mad,  unchained  elements,  to  teach 
Who  rules  them.     Be  it  ours  to  meditate, 
In  these  calm  shades,  Thy  milder  majesty, 
And  to  the  beautiful  order  of  Thy  works, 
Learn  to  conform  the  order  of  jur  lives. 


W.  C.  BuYAirr. 


LESSON  XCTIII. 

THE    TEACHER'S    PROFESSION. 

1.  Contrary  to  the  opinion  which  has  somewhat  gen- 
erally prevailed,  there  is  not  among  all  the  diversified 
callings  of  men  one  more  important,  elevating,  and  com- 
manding than  that  of  a  teacher. 

2.  The  highest  achievement  of  the  most  able  and  ac- 
complished legislator  is  simply  the  enactment  of  plain 
and  just  laws.  His  best  and  noblest  work  is  after  all 
but  a  silent  letter,  necessarily  without  vitality,  action, 
or  effect,  to  all  that  countless  class  of  persons  who  can 
not  understand  its  provisions,  nor  appreciate  the  intelli- 
gence, wisdom,  justice,  and  patriotism  which  spoke  it 
into  being.  But  suppose  the  best  fortune  possible  to 
attend  the  labors  of  the  legislator,  still  his  works  are 
ephemeral,  and  destined  soon  to  perish. 

3.  Not  such  the  fate  of  the  teacher.  His  labors  pro- 
duce no  learned  tomes  of  lifeless  statutes,  but  living,  in- 
telligent, active,  self-interpreting  men ;  men  who  are 
not  only  self-regulating,  but  whose  example  attracts, 
excites,  vivifies,  and  directs  all  within  the  sphere  of  its 
influence.     Characters  such  as  these  produce  and  re- 


WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER.         233 

produce  their  representatives  through  indefinite  ages; 
nay,  every  principle  of  truth,  every  seed  of  virtue  which 
the  faithful  teacher  has  implanted  in  the  soul  of  his 
pupil,  shall  continue  to  germinate  and  bear  precious 
fruit  so  long  as  that  soul  itself  shall  exist. 

4.  Perhaps  the  most  truly  renowned  name  in  the 
whole  history  of  man,  the  name  which  appears  most 
likely  to  attain  an  earthly  immortality,  is  Socrates ;  and 
his  highest  glory  in  his  own  estimation  while  he  lived, 
and  in  the  world's  estimation  since  his  death,  is,  that  he 
was  a  teacher  of  youth. 

5.  But  the  dignity  and  importance  of  the  teacher's 
profession  are  attested  by  a  greater  and  holier  name  than 
that  of  Socrates.  One  of  the  chief  objects  of  the  mis- 
sion of  the  Savior  of  the  world  was  to  instruct  mankind. 
Possessing  in  itself  such  inherent  importance,  excel- 
lence, and  majesty,  and  sanctioned  by  the  life  and  ex- 
ample of  Him  who  spoke  as  never  man  spoke,  who  can, 
for  a  moment,  doubt  that  the  solid  and  enduring  glory 
of  a  virtuous  and  accomplished  teacher  is  a  fit  object  of 
pursuit  for  the  most  capable  and  exalted  minds  ?  and  who 
can  hesitate  to  believe  that  in  the  final  awards  which 
await  us  all,  the  highest  honor  shall  be  conferred  upon 
him  who  has  been  most  able  and  faithful  in  explaining 
and  enforcing  the  everlasting  principles  of  truth  and 
duty,  and  winning  men  by  precept  and  example  to  the 
love  and  practice  of  every  possible  virtue  ? 

6.  But  the  teacher's  profession  is  not  only  the  most 
elevated,  but  it  is  also  the  most  holy  of  all  avocations. 
Amid  the  appalling  moral  and  intellectual  obliquity  of 
adult  life,  he  is  more  than  man  who  does  not  sometimes, 
perhaps  I  should  say  often,  find  his  resolution  overpower- 
ed, his  virtue  sullied,  by  the  almost  resistless  temptations 
with  which  pleasure,  ambition,  and  the  desire  of  wealth 
are  constantly  besetting  him. 

20* 


234         WEBB'S  FOURTH  HEADER. 

7.  How  different  are  the  influences  by  which  the 
teacher  is  surrounded !  Each  morning  he  is  hailed  with 
the  hearty  welcome  of  smiling,  healthy,  and  happy  child- 
hood. On  every  hand,  he  beholds  simplicity,  frankness, 
candor,  integrity,  and  unbounded  confidence  :  in  a  word, 
he  is  encircled  by  those  pure  and  innocent  beings  of 
whom  the  Savior  himself  said,  "  Of  such  is  the  kingdom 
of  heaven." 

8.  Surrounded  by  influences  such  as  these,  would  not 
all  temptation  be  powerless  ?  would  not  every  unholy 
emotion  wither  and  die  ?  would  not  the  constant  aspi- 
ration of  every  soul  be  for  higher  attainments  in  virtue  ? 
for  more  accurate  and  extensive  knowledge  of  the  Cre- 
ator's laws  ?  for  more  prompt  and  absolute  compliance 
with  their  sacred  requirements?  There  is  a  divinity 
and  power  in  the  society  of  innocent  childhood  which 
will  touch  the  hardest  heart,  impress  the  proudest  spirit 
with  humility,  and  for  a  time,  at  least,  awaken  virtuous 

emotions  in  the  most  abandoned  bosom. 

James  Hekrv,  Jr. 

2.  E  phem'  e  ral,  of  short  duration,  (strictly,  lasting  but  one  day.) 

3.  Tome,  a  book.  5.  In  her'  ent,  existing  within  itself. 


LESSON  XCIX. 

"  FRIENDSHIP,  LOVE,   AND  TRUTH."* 

1.  Where  "  Friendship,  Love,  and  Truth"  abound 

Among  a  band  of  brothers, 
The  cup  of  joy  goes  gayly  round, 

Each  shares  the  bliss  of  others  : 
Sweet  roses  grace  the  thorny  way 

Along  this  vale  of  sorrow  ; 

*  The  mctto  of  the  "  Independent  Order  of  Odd  Fellows." 


WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER.         235 

The  flowers  that  shed  their  leaves  to-day- 
Shall  bloom  again  to-morrow : 
How  grand  in  age,  how  fair  in  youth, 
Are  holy  "  Friendship,  Love,  and  Truth !" 

2.  On  halcyon  wings  our  moments  pass, 

Life's  cruel  cares  beguiling; 
Old  Time  lays  down  his  scythe  and  glass, 

In  gay  good-humor  smiling ; 
With  ermine  beard  and  forelock  gray 

His  reverend  front  adorning, 
He  looks  like  Winter  turned  to  May, 

Night  softened  into  morning. 
How  grand  in  age,  how  fair  in  youth, 
Are  holy  "  Friendship,  Love,  and  Truth !" 

3.  From  these  delightful  fountains  flow 

Ambrosial  rills  of  pleasure  ; 
Can  man  desire,  can  Heaven  bestow 

A  more  resplendent  treasure  ? 
Adorned  with  gems  so  richly  bright, 

We'll  form  a  constellation, 
Where  every  star  with  modest  light 

Shall  gild  his  proper  station. 
How  grand  in  age,  how  fair  in  youth, 
Are  holy  "  Friendship,  Love,  and  Truth !" 

Montgomery. 


LESSON  C. 

OUR  WONDROUS  ATMOSPHERE. 

1.  The  atmosphere  rises  above  us  with  its  dome,  arch- 
ing toward  the  heavens,  of  which  it  is  the  most  familiar 
synonyme  and  symbol.  It  floats  around  us,  like  that 
grand  object  which  the  Apostle  John  saw  in  his  vision — 
"  a  sea  of  glass  like  unto  crystal." 


236  WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER. 

2.  So  massive  is  it,  that  when  it  stirs  it  tosses  about 
great  ships  like  playthings,  and  sweeps  cities  and  forests, 
like  snow-flakes,  to  destruction  before  it ;  and  yet  is  so 
subtile  that  we  have  lived  years  in  it  before  we  can  be 
persuaded  that  it  exists  at  all ;  and  the  great  bulk  of 
mankind  never  realize  the  truth  that  they  are  bathed  in 
an  ocean  of  air.  Its  weight  is  so  enormous  that  iron 
shivers  before  it  like  glass  ;  yet  a  soap  ball  sails  through 
it  with  impunity,  and  the  thinnest  insect  waves  it  aside 
with  its  wing. 

3.  It  ministers  lavishly  to  all  the  senses.  We  touch 
it  not,  but  it  touches  us.  Its  warm  south  winds  bring 
back  color  to  the  face  of  the  invalid  ;  its  cool  west  winds 
refresh  the  fevered  brow,  and  make  the  blood  mantle  in 
our  cheeks ;  even  its  north  blast  braces  into  new  vigor 
the  hardened  children  of  our  rugged  climate. 

4.  The  eye  is  indebted  to  it  for  all  the  magnificence 
of  sunrise,  the  full  brightness  of  mid-day,  the  chastened 
radiance  of  the  twilight,  and  the  clouds  that  cradle  near 
the  setting  sun.  But  for  it,  the  rainbow  would  want  its 
"  triumphal  arch,"  and  the  winds  would  not  send  their 
fleecy  messengers  on  errands  around  the  heavens.  The 
cold  ether  would  not  shed  snow  feathers  on  the  earth, 
nor  would  drops  of  dew  gather  on  the  flowers.  The 
kindly  rain  would  never  fall,  nor  hail,  storm,  nor  fog, 
diversify  the  face  of  the  sky. 

5.  Our  naked  globe  would  turn  its  tanned  and  un- 
shadowed forehead  toward  the  sun,  and  one  dreary 
monotonous  blaze  of  light  and  heat,  dazzle  and  burn  up 
all  things.  Were  there  no  atmosphere,  the  evening  sun 
would  in  a  moment  set,  and,  without  warning;  plunge 
the  earth  in  darkness.  But  the  air  keeps  his  rays,  and 
lets  them  slip  but  slowly  through  her  ringers;  so  that 
the  shadows  of  evening  are  gathered  by  degrees,  and 
the  flowers  have  time  to  bow  their  heads,  and  every 


WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER.         23 Y 

creature  space  to  find  a  place  of  rest,  and  to  nestle  to 
repose. 

6.  In  the  morning  the  sun  would  burst  at  one  bound 
from  the  bosom  of  night,  and  blaze  above  the  horizon ; 
but  the  air  watches  for  his  coming,  and  sends  at  first 
one  little  ray  to  announce  his  approach,  and  then  an- 
other, and  by  and  by  a  handful,  and  so  gently  draws 
aside  the  curtain  of  night,  and  slowly  lets  the  light  fall 
on  the  face  of  the  earth,  till  her  eyelids  open,  and  like  a 
man,  she  goeth  forth  again  to  her  labors  till  the  evening. 


LESSON  CI. 

NAPOLEON  AT  REST. 

1.  His  falchion  flashed  along  the  Nile  ; 

His  hosts  he  led  through  Alpine  snows ; 
O'er  Moscow's  towers,  that  blazed  the  while, 
His  eagle  flag  unrolled — and  froze. 

2.  Here  sleeps  he  now,  alone  !     Not  one, 

Of  all  the  kings,  whose  crowns  he  gave, 
Bends  o'er  his  dust ; — nor  wife  nor  son 
Has  ever  seen  or  sought  his  grave. 

3.  Behind  this  sea-girt  rock,  the  star, 

That  led  him  on  from  crown  to  crown, 
Has  sunk  ;  and  nations  from  afar 
Gazed  as  it  faded  and  went  down. 

4.  High  is  his  couch  ; — the  ocean  flood, 

Far,  far  below,  by  storms  is  curled ; 
As  round  him  heaved,  while  high  he  stood, 
A  stormy  and  unstable  world. 


238         WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER. 

5.  Alone  he  sleeps  !     The  mountain  cloud, 

That  night  hangs  round  him,  and  the  breath 
Of  morning  scatters,  is  the  shroud 

That  wraps  the  conqueror's  clay  in  death. 

6.  Pause  here !     The  far-off  world  at  last 

Breathes  free  ;  the  hand  that  shook  its  thrones, 
And  to  the  earth  its  miters  cast, 

Lies  powerless  now  beneath  these  stones. 

7.  Hark !  comes  there,  from  the  pyramids, 

And  from  Siberian  wastes  of  snow, 
And  Europe's  hills,  a  voice  that  bids 

The  world  he  awed  to  mourn  him f -  -'No: 

8.  The  only,  the  perpetual  dirge 

That's  heard  here,  is  the  sea-bird's  cry,-  — 
The  mournful  murmur  of  the  surge, — 

The  cloud's  deep  voice,  the  wind's  low  sigh. 

John  Pru  n  rr. 


LESSON   CI  I. 

TYPOGRAPHY  :    ITS    ORIGIN,    RISE,    AND    PROGRESS. 

1.  Heaven  has  allowed  the  discovery  or  invention  of 
ao  art  that  can  compare,  in  point  of  usefulness,  to  the 
typographic  art ;  and  notwithstanding  its  great  import- 
ance, and  the  recentness  of  its  origin,  my  readers  will 
be  surprised  to  learn  that  its  inventor  and  early  history 
are  alike  vailed  in  doubt. 

2.  "  The  inventor  of  this  noble  art  to  find, 
Has  long  engaged  the  antiquary's  mind  ; 

To  question  dates,  on  books  and  records  pore, 
To  draw  the  vail  Obscurity's  cast  o'er — 


WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER.         239 

Vain  are  his  efforts  :  'tis  beyond  his  might 

To  fix,  in  truth,  on  man  or  place,  the  right ! 

Doubts  still  exist  to  whom  the  palm  is  due ; 

Partisans  for  each  their  claims  pursue  ; 

But  metal  types,  the  honor  all  confer 

On  both  the  Guttembergs,  Faust,  and  Schoeffer." 

3.  Some  have  asserted  that  it  has  been  practiced  in 
China  from  the  earliest  days  of  antiquity ;  but  it  is  quite 
certain  that  the  fifteenth  century  has  the  honor  of  mak- 
ing it  available  to  the  world  at  large  ;  for  all  admit  that, 
previous  to  this  time,  types  were  not  known. 

4.  It  is  probable  that  it  was  suggested  to  Caster,  an 
old  bachelor,  by  cutting  a  few  letters  or  characters  in 
the  bark  of  a  beech-tree.  After  this,  he  cut  them  on 
blocks^  and  printed  toys  for  the  children  of  his  brother, 
with  whom  he  resided.  From  this  small  beginning,  it 
appears  that  typography  has  arisen  to  be  what  it  now 
is — the  greatest  earthly  benefactor  of  the  human  race. 

5.  For  some  time,  the  matter  to  be  printed  was  cut, 
inverted,  on  blocks  of  wood,  from  which  the  impres- 
sions were  taken.  At  this  early  period,  the  present 
printed  characters  were  unknown,  and  only  <tcu/u  /etteta 
were  used  ;  and,  of  course,  all  the  printing  in  those  days 
looked  like  wta^ia. 

6.  Wooden  type  was  soon  found  to  be  inefficient,  and 
resort  was  had  to  metal,  on  which  the  type  was  cut, 
the  same  as  on  wood.  The  Bible  was  the  first  book 
printed  with  this  type,  and,  in  fact,  the  first  book  of  much 
note  printed  at  all,  though  there  had  been  several  pamph- 
lets, a  grammar,  and  some  other  small  books  printed. 

7.  The  first  publishers  of  the  Bible  were  John  Faust, 
Peter  Schoeffer,  and  John  Guttemberg,  and  their  first 
edition  was  issued  A.  D.  1450.  Previous  to  this  time, 
the  Bible  was  furnished  by  scribes ;  and  as  it  took  a  long 
time  to  copy  it,  and  but  few  could  write,  a  complete  copy 


I 


fr 

240         WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER. 

cost  an  enormous  sum.     The  manuscripts  were  sold  as 
high  as  600  crowns,  or  $654  each ! 

8.  Faust,  who  was  the  money  man  in  this  "  house," 
conceived  the  idea  of  enhancing  his  moneyed  interest. 
For  this  purpose,  he  went  to  Paris,  taking  a  number  of 
copies  with  him,  which  he  sold  as  manuscripts,  at  first, 
at  the  ordinary  prices.  Soon,  however,  he  reduced  the 
price  to  sixty,  and  shortly  after  to  thirty,  crowns. 

9.  This  excited  the  astonishment  of  the  people ;  but 
how  much  greater  was  their  wonder,  when,  on  com- 
paring different  copies,  they  found  them  to  be  exactly 
alike ! 

10.  Given  not  a  little  to  the  marvelous,  the  people 
were  quite  positive  that  something  more  than  human 
agency  had  conspired  to  produce  such  wonderful  results  ; 
and,  as  Satan  is  always  considered  the  instigator  of  inno- 
vations, it  was  at  once  declared  that  Mr.  Faust  was  in 
league  with  the  Devil ! 

11.  This  declaration  was  held  to  be  proved  beyond 
controversy,  by  the  fact  that  the  manuscripts  were  em- 
bellished with  red  ink,  which  they  took  to  be  blood ! 
Faust  was  now  thrown  into  prison,  and  would  have 
atoned  for  his  enormous  sin  by  his  life,  had  he  not  re- 
vealed "the  secret."  Faust  probably  died  of  the  plague, 
at  Paris,  1466. 

12.  Peter  SchoefFer  is  entitled  to  all  the  credit  of  in- 
venting metal  types,  as  they  now  exist.  At  first,  the 
type,  made  of  lead  only,  was  found  too  soft ;  but  this  de- 
fect was  soon  remedied,  by  compounding  it  with  harder 
metals.  The  improved  type  was  first  used  in  1459,  when 
a  book  called  Duvandi  Rationale  was  printed. 

13.  Since  that  time,  great  improvements  have  been 
made  in  type, — in  their  composition,  size,  form,  and 
general  appearance.  At  that  d*»y,  the  type  was  all  of 
one  size,  and  much  larger  than  that  now  in  general  use. 


WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER.         241 

For  much  of  this  improvement,  as  well  as  for  the  inven- 
tion of  typography  itself,  and  the  metal  types,  we  are 
indebted  to  the  Germans. 

14.  Printing  was  introduced  into  England  by  William 
Caxton,  in  1474.  In  1569,  it  found  its  way  into  Mexico, 
North  America,  and  not  until  1639  did  it  appear  in  what 
is  now  the  United  States.  To  Cambridge,  Mass.,  be- 
longs the  honor  of  setting  up  the  first  printing  press  in 
America.  This  press  was  established  by  the  Rev.  Jesse 
Glover,  under  the  direction  of  Stephen  Day.  The  first 
thing  printed  was  the  Freeman's  Oath  ;  the  second,  an 
Almanac ;  and  the  third,  a  Version  of  the  Psalms. 

15.  John  Foster  introduced  the  first  press  into  Bos- 
ton, in  1675.  Though  Cambridge  has  the  honor  of  owning 
the  first  press,  Boston  has  the  greater  honor  of  publish- 
ing the  first  American  newspaper.  The  name  of  this 
paper  was  the  "  Boston  News-Letter."  The  first  number 
was  issued  April  24,  1704,  by  John  Campbell.  This 
paper  was  discontinued  in  1776,  after  being  regularly 
published  for  nearly  seventy-two  years. 

16.  The  second  newspaper  was  also  published  in  Bos- 
ton, and  likewise  the  third.  This  third  paper  was  called 
the  "New  England  Courant"  and  created  much  dis- 
turbance, by  the  recklessness  with  which  it  expressed  its 
opinions.  James  Franklin  was  its  editor  and  proprietor. 
It  was  in  the  office  of  this  paper,  which  stood  on  the 
easterly  corner  of  Court  Street  and  Franklin  Avenue, 
that  Benjamin  Franklin  learned  the  printer's  trade.* 

17.  Since  the  days  of  Franklin,  very  great  improve- 
ments have  been  made  in  his  favorite  art ;  and  it  would 
seem  that  the  day  of  improvement  is  past — that  perfec- 

*  For  an  account  of  Franklin's  doings  in  this  office,  we  must  refer  the 
reader  to  the  very  graphic  one  which  he  himself  has  given ;  and  it  may 
be  added,  that  young  men  can  scarcely  read  a  more  interesting  and  use- 
ful volume,  than  the  "  Life  of  Franklin,  written  by  himself." 

21 


242         WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER. 

tion  is  attained — when  we  consider  that  playing  on  a 
machine  as  on  a  piano,  now  "  sets  the  type,"  and  one 
gentle  pressure  of  the  toe  causes  thousands  of  printed 
sheets  hourly  to  teem  from  the  press. 

18.  The  present  generation  has  great  cause,  over  any 
preceding  one,  for  gratitude  to  the  Author  of  all  Good, 
for  the  innumerable  blessings  which  He  has,  in  a  special 
manner,  showered  profusely  upon  it ;  but  above  all  other 
things  for  which  it  should  humbly  and  devoutly  thank 
the  great  Benefactor  of  man,  let  the  heart  rise  in  holy 
gratitude  for  the  inestimable  gift  of  the  press. 

19.  "  From  thee,  0  Press  !  what  blessings  flow 
To  unworthy  mortals  here  below, 

Life's  path  to  smooth  ! 
The  widow's  cause,  the  infant's  tear, 
In  thee  a,  friend  are  sure  to  rear, 

Their  loss  to  soothe. 

20.  "  Through  thee,  fair  Liberty  will  stand, 
The  proudest  boast  throughout  this  land : — 

See  hist'ry's  page ! 

The  Press  enslaved,  she'll  inly  moan, 

And  Freedom's  sons  in  chains  may  groan, 

From  age  to  age  !" 

John  Russell. 

Q.  What  is  the  most  useful  art  ?  What  about  its  origin  is  rather  sur- 
prising? Is  there  any  possibility  of  determining  definitely  who  the  in- 
ventor is? — or  his  place  of  residence? — or  the  time  of  the  invention? 
From  what  little  circumstance  did  it  probably  originate  ?  How  and  what 
did  Caster  first  print?  In  what  did  printing  consist  for  some  tune? 
What  kind  of  characters  were  used?  How  did  the  printing  look?  On 
what  kind  of  type  and  when  was  the  Bible  first  printed  ?  Who  were  its 
publishers?  How  was  the  Bible  furnished  before,  and  at  what  cost! 
What  did  Faust  do  with  some  of  his  Bibles  ?  "What  surprised  the  people. 
and  what  did  they  assert?  What  strong  proof  had  they  that  the  Devil 
and  Faust  were  on  intimate  terms,  and  were  working  together  ?  What 
was  done  with  Faust,  and  how  did  he  Bare  his  life  !  Who  invented  I 
types  ?     What  defect  did  they  have,  and  how  WM  it  remedied  ?     In  what 


WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER.         243 

respect  have  improvements  been  made  since  then  ?  For  what  are  we  in- 
debted to  the  Germans  ?  When  and  by  whom  was  printing  introduced 
into  England  ?  Where  was  the  first  printing-press  in  the  United  States  ? 
When  and  where  was  the  first  newspaper  published  ?  Who  have  great 
cause  to  be  thankful  ?     Specially  for  what  should  we  be  thankful  ? 


LESSON    CIII. 
byron's  farewell  to  his  wife. 

1.  Fare  thee  well !  and  if  forever, 

Still  forever,  fare  thee  well ; 
Even  though  unforgiving,  never 
'Gainst  thee  shall  my  heart  rebel. 

2.  Would  that  breast  were  bared  before  thee, 

Where  thy  head  so  oft  hath  lain, 
While  that  placid  sleep  came  o'er  thee 
Which  thou  ne'er  canst  know  again. 

3.  Would  that  breast,  by  thee  glanced  over, 

Every  inmost  thought  could  show  ! 
Then  thou  wouldst  at  last  discover 
'Twas  not  well  to  spurn  it  so. 

4.  Though  the  world  for  this  commend  thee — 

Though  it  smile  upon  the  blow — 
Even  its  praises  must  offend  thee, 
Founded  on  another's  woe. 

5.  Though  my  many  faults  defaced  me, 

Could  no  other  arm  be  found 
Than  the  one  which  once  embraced  me, 
To  inflict  a  cureless  wound  ? 


244         WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER. 

6.  Yet,  0  yet,  thyself  deceive  not ; 
Love  may  sink  by  slow  decay, 
But  by  sudden  wrench,  believe  not 
Hearts  can  thus  be  torn  away. 

V.  Still  thine  own  its  life  retaineth — 

Still  must  mine,  though  bleeding,  beat — 
And  the  undying  thought  which  paineth, 
Is — that  we  no  more  may  meet. 


8.  But  'tis  done — all  words  are  idle — 

Words  from  me  are  vainer  still ; 
But  the  thoughts  we  can  not  bridle, 
Force  their  way  without  the  will. 

9.  Fare  thee  well ! — thus  disunited, 

Torn  from  every  nearer  tie, 
Sear'd  in  heart,  and  lone,  and  blighted, 
More  than  this,  I  scarce  can  die  ! 


LESSON    CIV. 

UNIVERSAL      EDUCATION. 

1.  Universal  education!  Grand,  inspiring  idea! 
And  shall  there  come  a  time,  when  the  delver  in  the 
mine  and  the  rice-swamp,  the  orphans  of  the  prodigal  and 
the  felon,  the  very  offspring  of  shame,  shall  be  truly,  sys- 
tematically educated  ?  Glorious  consummation  !  morn- 
ing twilight  of  the  millennium  ! 

2.  Who  will  not  joyfully  labor,  and  court  sacrifices, 
and  suffer  reproach,  if  he  may  hasten,  by  even  so  much 
as  a  day,  its  blessed  coming  ?     Who  will  not  take  cour- 


WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER.         245 

age  from  a  contemplation  of  what  the  last  century  has 
seen  accomplished  ;  if  not  in  absolute  results,  yet  in  pre- 
paring the  approaches,  in  removing  impediments,  in  cor- 
recting and  expanding  the  popular  comprehension  of  the 
work  to  be  done,  and  the  feasibility  of  doing  it  ? 

3.  Whatever  of  evil  and  of  suffering  the  future  may 
have  in  store  for  us — though  the  earth  be  destined  yet 
to  be  plowed  by  the  sword,  and  fertilized  by  human  gore, 
until  rank  growths  of  the  deadliest  weeds  shall  over- 
shadow it,  stifling  into  premature  decay  every  plant  most 
conducive  to  health  or  fragrance — the  time  shall  surely 
come,  when  universal  and  true  education  shall  dispel  the 
dense  night  of  ignorance  and  perverseness  that  now  en- 
shrouds the  vast  majority  of  the  human  race  ;  shall  ban- 
ish evil  and  wretchedness  almost  wholly  from  earth,  by 
removing  or  unmasking  the  multiform  temptations  to 
wrong-doing  ;  shall  put  an  end  to  robbery,  hatred,  op- 
pression, and  war,  by  diffusing  widely  and  thoroughly  a 
living  consciousness  of  the  brotherhood  of  mankind,  and 
the  sure  blessedness,  as  well  as  righteousness,  of  doing 
ever  as  we  would  have  others  do  to  us. 

4.  "  Train  up  a  child  in  the  way  he  should  go,  and 
when  he  is  old  he  will  not  depart  from  it."  Such  is  the 
promise  which  enables  us  to  see  to  the  end  of  the  dizzy 
whirl  of  wrong  and  misery  in  which  our  race  has  long 
sinned  and  suffered.  On  wise  and  systematic  training, 
based  on  the  widest  knowledge,  the  truest  morality,  and 
tending  ever  to  universal  good,  as  the  only  assurance  of 
special  or  personal  well-being,  rests  the  great  hope  of  the 
terrestrial  renovation  and  elevation  of  man. 

5.  Not  the  warrior,  then,  nor  the  statesman,  nor  yet 
the  master-worker,  as  such,  but  the  Teacher,  in  our  day, 
leads  the  vanguard  of  humanity  ;  whether  in  the  semi- 
nary or  by  the  wayside — by  uttered  word  or  printed 
page.     Our  true  king  is  not  he  who  best  directs  the  siege, 

21*  " 


246      webb's  fourth  reader. 

or  sets  his  squadrons  in  the  field,  or  heads  the  charge, 
but  he  who  can  and  will  instruct  and  enlighten  his  fel- 
lows, so  that,  at  least,  some  few  of  the  generation  of 
which  he  is  a  member  shall  be  wiser,  purer,  nobler,  for 
his  living  among  them,  and  prepared  to  carry  forward 
the  work,  of  which  he  was  a  humble  instrument,  to  its 
far  grander  and  loftier  consummation. 

6.  Far  above  the  conqueror  of  kingdoms,  the  destroyer 
of  hosts  by  the  sword  and  the  bayonet,  is  he  whose  tear- 
less victories  redden  no  river  and  whiten  no  plain,  but 
who  leads  the  understanding  a  willing  captive,  and  builds 
his  empire,  not  of  the  wrenched  and  bleeding  fragments 
of  subjugated  nations,  but  on  the  realms  of  intellect  which 
he  has  discovered,  and  planted,  and  peopled  with  benefi- 
cent activity  and  enduring  joy  ! 

7.  The  mathematician,  who,  in  his  humble  study,  un- 
disturbed as  yet  by  the  footsteps  of  monarchs  and  their 
ministers,  demonstrates  the  existence  of  a  planet  before 
unsuspec  ed  by  astronomy,  unobserved  by  the  telescope ; 
the  author,  who,  from  his  dim  garret,  sends  forth  the 
scroll  which  shall  constrain  thousands  on  thousands  to 
laugh  or  weep  at  his  will — who  topples  down  a  venerable 
fraud  by  an  allegory,  or  crushes  a  dynasty  by  an  epigram 
— shall  live  and  reign  over  a  still-expanding  dominion, 
when  the  pasteboard  kings,  whose  steps  are  counted  in 
court  circulars,  and  timed  by  stupid  huzzas,  shall  have 
long  since  moldered  and  been  forgotten. 

8.  To  build  out  into  chaos  and  drear  vacuity — to  ren- 
der some  corner  of  the  primal  darkness  radiant  with  the 
presence  of  an  idea — to  supplant  ignorance  by  knowl- 
edge, and  sin  by  virtue — such  is  the  mission  of  our  age, 
worthy  to  enkindle  the  ambition  of  the  loftiest,  yet  prof- 
fering opportunity  and  reward  to  the  most  lowly. 

9.  To  the  work  of  universal  enlightenment  be  our 
lives  henceforth  consecrated,  until  the  black  clouds  of 


WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER.         247 

impending  evil  are  irradiated  and  dispersed  by  the  full 
effulgence  of  the  divinely-predicted  day,  when  "  all  snail 
know  the  Lord,  from  the  least  unto  the  greatest,"  and 
when  wrong  and  woe  shall  vanish  forever  from  the  pres- 
ence Of  UNIVERSAL  KNOWLEDGE,  PURITY,  and  BLISS  ! 

Hoe  ace  Geeeley. 


LESSON  CV. 

THE      VENOMOUS      WORM. 

" Outvenoms  all  the  worms  of  Nile." — Shakspeare. 

1.  Who  has  not  heard  of  the  rattlesnake  or  copper- 
head ?  An  unexpected  sight  of  either  of  these  reptiles 
will  make  even  the  lords  of  creation  recoil ;  but  there  is 
a  species  of  worm,  found  in  various  parts  of  this  state, 
which  conveys  a  poison  of  a  nature  so  deadly,  that,  com- 
pared with  it,  even  the  venom  of  the  rattlesnake  is  harm- 
less. To  guard  our  readers  against  this  foe  of  human 
kind,  is  the  object  of  this  lesson. 

2.  This  worm  varies  much  in  size.  It  is  frequently 
an  inch  in  diameter,  but,  as  it  is  rarely  seen,  except  when 
coiled,  its  length  can  hardly  be  conjectured.  It  is  of  a 
dull  lead  color,  and  generally  lives  near  a  spring  or  small 
stream  of  water,  and  bites  the  unfortunate  people  who 
are  in  the  habit  of  going  there  to  drink.  The  brute 
creation  it  never  molests.  They  avoid  it  with  the  same 
instinct  that  teaches  the  animals  of  Peru  to  shun  the 
deadly  coya. 

3.  Several  of  these  reptiles  have  long  infested  our  set- 
tlements, to  the  misery  and  destruction  of  many  of  our 
fellow-citizens.     I  have,  therefore,  had  frequent  oppoi- 


248         WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER. 

tunities  of  being  the  melancholy  spectator  of  the  effects 
produced  by  the  subtile  poison  which  this  worm  infuses. 

4.  The  symptoms  of  its  bite  are  terrible.  The  eyes 
of  the  patient  become  red  and  fiery,  his  tongue  swells  to 
an  immoderate  size,  and  obstructs  his  utterance  ;  and 
delirium  of  the  most  horrid  character  quickly  follows. 
Sometimes,  in  his  madness,  he  attempts  the  destruction 
of  his  nearest  friends. 

5.  If  the  sufferer  has  a  family,  his  weeping  wife  and 
helpless  infants  are  not  unfrequently  the  objects  ot  his 
frantic  fury.  In  a  word,  he  exhibits,  to  the  life,  all  the 
detestable  passions  that  rankle  in  the  bosom  of  a  savage ; 
and  such  is  the  spell  in  which  his  senses  are  locked,  that, 
no  sooner  has  the  unhappy  patient  recovered  from  the 
paroxysm  of  insanity,  occasioned  by  the  bite,  than  he 
seeks  out  the  destroyer,  for  the  sole  purpose  of  being 
bitten  again. 

6.  I  have  seen  a  good  father,  his  locks  as  white  as 
snow,  his  steps  slow  and  trembling,  beg  in  vain  of  his 
only  son  to  quit  the  lurking-place  of  the  worm.  My 
heart  bled  when  he  turned  away ;  for  I  knew  the  fond 
hope,  that  his  son  would  be  the  "  staff  of  his  declining 
years,"  had  supported  him  through  many  a  sorrow. — 
Youths  of  America,  would  you  know  the  name  of  this 
reptile  ? — It  is  called  the  Worm  of  the  Still. 

John  Russell. 


THE  WORM  OF  THE  STILL. 


fe« 


> 


urssr.i.i- 


3EJ 


quires    not    the    leam  -  ing     of     Greece  or       of     Rome, 


fe^^^ia^^;^ 


1 
* 

To         pic  -   ture    out     3a  -   tan,     or       point      out     hU    home; 


WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER. 


249 


mmmz^mms 


But     the        arch-flend  dwells  now   in   the    "Worm  of     the     Still." 

7.  It  requires  not  the  learning  of  Greece  or  of  Rome 
To  picture  out  Satan,  or  point  out  his  home ; 
Into  serpents,  of  old,  crept  the  author  of  ill, 

But  the  arch-fiend  dwells  now  in  the  "  Worm  of  the  Still " 

8.  Assuming  that  shape,  he  persuades  men  to  take 
A  temperate  dram  for  their  poor  stomach's  sake ; 
Till,  by  little  and  little,  they're  bent  to  his  will, 
And  man  is  o'ercome  by  the  "  Worm  of  the  Still." 

9.  'Tis  his  pride  to  transform,  by  his  pestilent  breath, 
The  most  nourishing  food  to  the  essence  of  death ; 
And  give  us,  in  place  of  the  sweet  bubbling  rill, 
A  river  of  fire  from  the  "  Worm  of  the  Still." 

10.  In  the  art  of  corrupting  and  cursing  our  grain, 
To  famish  his  victim,  and  madden  his  brain, 
No  demon  of  death  ever  equaled  his  skill, 

Or  replenished  the  graves  like  the  "  Worm  of  the  Still." 

11.  With  temperate  drams  drunkards  always  begin; 
But  an  unquenchable  fire  is  soon  kindled  within, 
And  quickly  they  fall  from  the  brow  of  the  hill, 
To  grovel  in  dust  with  the  "  Worm  of  the  Still." 

12.  What  is  it,  I  pray,  that  is  wont  to  transmute 
Pure  gold  to  base  metal — a  man  to  a  brute  ? 
What  causes  the  hand  of  the  murderer  to  spill 

The  blood  of  a  brother  ? — 'Tis  the  "  Worm  of  the  Still!" 


250         WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER. 


LESSON  CVI, 


SELF-CULTURE. 


1.  Philosophers  have  racked  their  wit  and  wisdom 
to  distinguish  man  from  "  other  animals"  by  some  single 
and  infallible  mark.  But  to  us  it  seems  sufficient  to  say, 
Man  is  a  being  capable  of  self-culture.  This  power  at 
once  separates  him  from  the  lower  orders,  and  makes 
him  akin  to  higher  existences ;  while  its  exercise  brings 
him  more  and  more  on  a  level  with  the  angels,  than 
which  he  was  originally  created  but  little  lower.  Thus, 
while  the  simple  possession  of  this  faculty  renders  man 
noble,  its  full  cultivation  and  development  raises  him 
still  higher  in  the  scale  of  being. 

2.  The  most  cursory  survey  of  the  universe  of  mat- 
ter and  of  mind,  including  all  that  science  unfolds  of  the 
former,  and  all  that  either  revelation  or  reason  discov- 
ers of  the  latter,  shows  that  one  great  law  pervades 
them  both. — This  law  is  Progress.  No  star  of  the 
first  magnitude,  however  near  or  remote  it  may  be, 
however  fixed  it  may  appear,  ever  remains  for  a  single 
moment  stationary  in  any  part  of  its  orbit. 

3.  Suns,  moons,  planets,  stars — all,  all  continue  with 
unceasing  activity,  their  annual  and  diurnal  motions ; 
besides  another,  the  "  systemic,"  where  whole  systems 
become  but  units  in  other  systems,  which  have  hitherto 
proved  too  vast  for  man  to  explore.  So,  in  like  manner, 
not  the  smallest  particle  that  helps  make  up  the  earth's 
mass,  or  the  humblest  individual  that  resides  upon  its 
surface,  ever  remains,  from  moment  to  moment,  un- 
changed in  its  essential  being,  or  in  its  relation  to 
others. 

4.  Change,  progress,  is  the  necessary  law  of  all  be- 


WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER.         251 

ings,  and  of  all  worlds.  And  while  the  latter  are  guided 
in  their  progress  by  other  "  laws,"  fixed  as  fate,  immu- 
table as  eternity,  man  possesses  the  high  prerogative, 
both  of  promoting  and  of  guiding  his  own  progress ;  and, 
as  is  just,  becomes  thus  personally  responsible  for  the 
quality,  as  well  as  the  quantity  of  that  progress.  The 
artist  has  vividly  portrayed  the  situation  of  man,  as  a 
fair  youth,  standing  erect  in  his  frail  bark,  upon  the 
stream  of  life,  and  holding  in  his  hand  the  helm  of  des- 
tiny. 

5.  His  onward  course  is  subject  to  his  own  control ; 
and  he  guides  it  as  he  will,  downward,  in  the  company 
of  evil  spirits,  or  upward,  to  the  beckoning  of  his  guar- 
dian angel.  But  the  picture  is  imperfect,  since  it  shows 
no  glimpse  of  the  multitudes  of  others,  whose  course  is 
influenced,  for  better  or  for  worse,  according  as  he 
chooses  for  himself.  For  self-culture  applies  as  much 
to  the  moral  as  to  the  intellectual  nature  ;  and  if  by  it 
a  price  is  put  into  our  hands  to  get  wisdom,  it  must  be 
that  which  regards  man  as  an  immortal  as  well  as  a 
mortal  being. 

6.  As  in  no  country  are  there  greater  opportunities  for 
self-culture  than  in  our  own,  so  in  no  country  are  there 
higher  motives  to  persuade  us  to  improve  them.  The 
greater  ease  with  which  the  American  citizen  provides 
for  the  daily  wants  of  his  family,  as  well  as  the  perfect 
freedom  of  directing  his  attention  to  whatever  subject 
he  will,  forms  privileges,  the  value  of  which  can  never 
be  correctly  estimated,  till  we  are  deprived  of  them. 

7.  The  genius  of  our  republican  institutions  assists 
all  in  their  onward  progress,  and  never  allows  true 
merit  to  be  repressed  because  unsupported  by  wealth 
or  nobility ;  but  it  encourages  every  citizen  to  believe 
he  shall  be  honored  as  highly  as  he  deserves,  and  he 
knows   he   may   raise   himself  as    high    as   he   will. 


252  WEBB'S  FOURTII  READER. 

What  was  it  but  self-cultivation  which  raised  such 
men  as  Franklin  and  Roger  Sherman,  from  their  hum- 
ble station  of  journeymen  mechanics  to  the  high  rank 
they  acquired  in  life — the  proud  position  they  now  hold 
in  the  history  of  our  country  ? 

8.  Not  that  we  would  imply  that  all  can  become  as 
great  as  these  men;  for  something  of  their  greatness 
was,  doubtless,  due  to  the  influence  of  the  "  times  that 
tried  men's  souls  ;"  but  we  do  say,  that  all  who  will  but 
as  perseveringly  cultivate  their  own  mental  and  moral 
faculties,  will  be  as  highly  esteemed  by  all  who  know 
them;  for  self-culture  is  like  a  precious  stone,  which 
each  one  may  polish  less  or  more  as  he  will. 

9.  Self-culture  is  self-education ;  and,  with  few  ex- 
ceptions, the  great  men  of  America,  if  not  of  the  world, 
have  been  self-made  men.  And  moreover,  if  we  do  not 
educate  ourselves  aright,  other  persons,  and  other  influ- 
ences, will  not  fail  to  educate  us  wrong ;  for  whether 
we  attend  to  it  or  not,  the  educating  process  must  go 
on. 

10.  Let  us  all  then,  of  all  sexes  and  ages,  retain  in 
our  own  hands  the  high  prerogative  of  self-culture,  and 
make  the  highest  possible  improvement  of  the  privilege, 
since  it  is  a  talent  by  which  we  may  continually  raise 
ourselves  in  the  scale  of  being,  and  for  which  we  are 
responsible,  whether  we  use  or  neglect  it. 

U.  To  the  young,  this  subject  has  especial  interest. 
They  have,  in  a  more  peculiar  manner,  their  destiny  in 
their  own  hands.  Let  them  see  to  it,  that  the  time 
never  comes,  when  they  shall  be  made  to  feel  that  they 
have  had  given  to  them  the  power  and  the  privi.ege  of 
self-culture,  of  elevating  and  ennobling  themselves  and 
others ;  but  that,  by  neglecting  to  employ  this  power 
and  privilege,  they  have  criminally  degraded  both. 


WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER. 


LESSON   CYII. 

8HYLOCK,  OR  THE  PCUND  OF  FLESH. 

Judge.      What  !  is  Antonio  here  ? 

Antonio.  Ready,  so  please  your  grace. 

Ju.      I  am  sorry  for  thee  ;  thou  art  come  to  answer 
A  stony  adversary,  an  inhuman  wretch, 
Incapable  of  pity. 

Ant.    I  am  armed  to  suffer. 

{Enter  ShylocJc.) 

Ju.      Dost  thou  now  exact  the  penalty, 

Which  is  a  pound  of  this  poor  merchant's  flesh? 

Shy.  By  our  holy  Sabbath,  I  have  sworn, 

To  have  the  due  and  forfeit  of  my  bond. 

Ju.      This  is  no  answer,  thou  unfeeling  man, 
To  excuse  the  current  of  thy  cruelty. 

Shy.  I  am  not  bound  to  please  thee  with  my  answer. 
You'll  ask  me  why  I  rather  chose  to  have 
A  weight  of  carrion  flesh,  than  to  receive 
Three  thousand  ducats.     I'll  not  answer  that: 
But  say  it  is  my  humor.     Is  it  answered  ? 
What  if  my  house  be  troubled  with  a  rat, 
And  I  be  pleased  to  give  ten  thousand  ducats 
To  have  it  baned  ?     What,  are  you  answered  yet  ? 
Some  men  there  are,  love  not  a  gaping  pig  ; 
Some,  that  are  mad,  if  they  behold  a  cat ; 
As  there  is  no  firm  reason  to  be  rendered, 
Why  one  can  not  abide  a  gaping  pig ; 
Another,  a  harmless,  necessary  cat ; 
So  can  I  give  no  reason,  and  I  will  not, 
More  than  a  lodged  hate,  and  a  certain  loathing 
I  bear  Antonio,  that  I  follow  thus 
A  losing  suit  against  him. 

Ju.      Do  all  men  kill  the  things  they  do  not  love  ? 

Shy.  Hates  any  man  the  thing  he  would  not  kill  ? 


22 


254         WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER. 

Ant.    For  thy  three  thousand  ducats,  here  are  six. 
Shy.   If  every  ducat  in  six  thousand  ducats 

Were  in  six  parts,  and  every  part  a  ducat, 

I  would  not  draw  them,  I  would  have  my  bond. 
Ju.      How  shalt  thou  hope  for  mercy,  rendering  none  ? 
Shy.   The  pound  of  flesh  which  I  demand  of  him, 

Is  dearly  bought ;  is  mine  ;  and  I  will  have  it : 

If  you  deny  me,  fy  upon  your  law ! 

I  stand  for  judgment ;  answer ;  shall  I  have  it  ? 
Ju.      Antonio,  do  you  confess  the  bond  ? 
Ant.    I  do. 

Ju.      Then  must  the  Jew  be  merciful. 
Shy.  On  what  compulsion  must  I  ?  tell  me  that. 
Ju.      The  quality  of  mercy  is  not  strained  ; 

It  droppeth  as  the  gentle  rain  from  heaven 

Upon  the  place  beneath  ;  it  is  twice  blessed  ; 

It  blesseth  him  that  gives,  and  him  that  takes. 
Shy.   My  deeds  upon  my  head  !     I  crave  the  law, 

The  penalty  and  forfeit  of  my  bond. 
Ju.      Is  he  not  able  to  discharge  the  money  ? 
Ant.    Yes,  here  I  tender  it  to  him  in  the  court ; 

Yea,  twice  and  thrice  the  sum. 
Shy.   I'll  have  my  bond,  I  will  not  take  thy  offer. 
Ju.      There  is  no  power  in  Venice 

Can  alter  a  decree  established. 
Shy.   O  wise,  wise  Judge,  how  do  I  honor  thee ! 
Ju.      I  pray  you  let  me  look  upon  the  bond. 

{Gives  it  to  the  Judge.) 
Shy.   Here  it  is,  most  reverend  doctor,  here  it  is. 
Ju.      Shylock,  there  's  thrice  thy  money  offered  thee. 
Shy.  An  oath,  an  oath,  I  have  in  heaven : 

Shall  I  lay  perjury  upon  my  soul  ? 

No,  not  for  Venice. 
Ju.      Why,  tins  bond  is  forfeit ; 

And  lawfully  by  this  the  Jew  may  claim 

A  pound  of  flesh,  to  be  by  him  cut  off 

Nearest  the  merchant's  heart :  be  merciful ; 


WEBB'S  FOUETH  EEADEE.         255 

Take  thrice  the  money ;  bid  me  tear  the  bond. 
Shy.   When  it  is  paid  according  to  the  tenor. 

You  know  the  law,  your  exposition 

Hath  been  most  sound. 

There  is  no  power  in  the  tongue  of  man 

To  alter  me :  I  stand  here  on  my  bond. 
Ant.    Most  heartily  do  I  beseech  the  court 

To  give  the  judgment. 
Ju.      Why,  then,  thus  it  is. 

You  must  prepare  your  bosom  for  his  knife.   . 
Shy.   0  noble  Judge  ! 
Ju.      For  the  intent  and  purpose  of  the  law 

Hath  full  relation  to  the  penalty, 

Which  here  appeareth  due  unto  the  bond. 
Shy.  'Tis  very  true  :  0  wise  and  upright  Judge  ! 
Ju.      Therefore,  lay  bare  your  bosom.  (To  Antonio.) 

Shy.  Ay,  his  breast : 

So  says  the  bond ;  does  it  not,  noble  Judge  ? 

Nearest  his  heart,  those  are  the  very  words. 
Ju.      It  is  so.     Are  there  balance  here,  to  weigh 

The  flesh  ? 
Shy.   I  have  them  ready.  f 
Ju.      Have  by  some  surgeon,  Shylock,  on  your  charge, 

To  stop  his  wounds,  lest  he  do  bleed  to  death. 
Shy.   Is  it  so  nominated  in  the  bond  ? 
Ju.      It  is  not  so  expressed ;  but  what  of  that? 

'T  were  good  you  do  so  much  in  charity. 
Shy.   I  can  not  find  it ;  't  is  not  in  the  bond. 
Ju.      Come,  merchant,  have  you  any  thing  to  say  ? 
Ant.    But  little ;  I  am  armed,  and  well  prepared. 
Ju.      Shylock !  A  pound  of  that  same  merchant's  flesh  is  thine  ; 

The  court  awards  it,  and  the  law  doth  give  it. 
Shy.  Most  rightful  Judge ! 
Ju.      And  you  must  cut  the  flesh  from  off  his  breast ; 

The  law  allows  it,  and  the  court  awards  it. 
Shy.  Most  learned  Judge !     A  sentence  :  come,  prepare. 
Ju.      Tarry  a  little  ;  there  is  something  else. 


256  WEBB'S  EOURTII  READER. 

This  bond  doth  give  thee  here  no  jot  of  blood : 

The  words  expressly  are,  a  pound  of  flesh ; 

Butv  in  the  cutting  it,  if  thou  dost  shed 

One  drop  of  Christian  blood,  thy  lands  and  goods 

Are,  by  the  law  of  Venice,  confiscate 

Unto  the  State  of  Venice. 

Shy,   Is  that  the  law? 

Ju.      Thyself  shalt  see  the  act ; 

For,  as  thou  urgest  justice,  be  assured 

Thou  shalt  have  justice,  more  than  thou  desirest. 

Shy.   I  take  his  offer,  then ;  pay  the  bond  thrice, 
And  let  the  Christian  go. 

Ju.      The  Jew  shall  have  all  justice  !  soft !  no  haste  ! 
He  shall  have  nothing  but  the  penalty. 
Therefore  prepare  thee  to  cut  off  the  flesh. 
Shed  thou  not  blood  ,  nor  cut  thou  less  nor  more, 
Than  just  one  pound ;  be  it  but  so  much 
As  makes  it  light  or  heavy,  in  the  substance, 
Or  the  division  of  the  twentieth  part 
Of  one  poor  scruple  ;  nay,  if  the  scale  do  turn 
But  in  the  estimation  of  a  hair, 
Thou  diest,  and  all  thy  goods  are  confiscate. 
Why  doth  the  Jew  pause  ?  take  thy  forfeiture. 

Shy.   Give  me  my  principal,  and  let  me  go. 

Ju.      Thou  hast  refused  it  in  the  open  court ; 

Thou  shalt  have  merely  justice,  and  the  bond. 

Shy.   Shall  I  not  barely  have  my  principal  ? 

Ju.      Thou  shalt  have  nothing  but  the  forfeiture, 
To  be  so  taken  at  thy  peril,  Jew. 

Shy.  Why,  then,  the  devil  give  him  good  of  it ! 
I'll  stay  no  longer  question. 

Ju.      Tarry,  Jew  : 

The  law  hath  yet  another  hold  on  you. 
It  is  enacted  in  the  laws  of  Venice, 
If  it  be  proved  against  an  alien, 
That  by  direct  or  indirect  attempts, 
He  seeks  the  life  of  any  citizen, 


WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER.  257 

The  party  'gainst  the  which  he  doth  contrive, 

Shall  seize  one  half  his  goods ;  and  the  other  half 

Comes  to  the  privy  coffer  of  the  State, 

And  the  offender's  life  lies  in  the  mercy 

Of  the  court  only. 
Shy.   Take  my  life,  then,  and  all,  and  pardon  not  that. 

You  do  take  my  house,  when  you  do  take  the  prep 

That  doth  sustain  my  house  ;  you  take  my  life, 

When  you  do  take  the  means  by  which  I  live. 
Ju.      The  court  in  mercy  spares  thy  life, 

But  the  forfeiture  of  thy  estate 

Comes  not  within  our  power  to  remedy ; 

The  law  is  strict  in  its  demands  of  justice. 

Are  you  contented,  Jew  ?  what  dost  thou  say  ? 
Shy.  I  pray  you,  give  me  leave  to  go  from  hence ; 

I  am  not  well ;  0  give  me  leave  to  go 

Where  I  may  die  in  peace : 

Since  what  I  hold  dearer  than  my  life, 

Is  taken  from  me. 
Ju.     The  court  has  mercy  on  your  life ; 

Go,  repent,  and  live, 

And  with  a  softer  heart,  remember  mercy  too. 

Shakspjeabx. 


LESSON   CYIII. 

EUROPE    AND    AMERICA WASHINGTON. 

[Extract  from  an  Address  delivered  at  the  celebration  of  the  completion  of  the  Bunker 
Hill  Monument,  June  17,  1843.] 

1.  Few  topics  are  more  inviting,  or  more  fit  for  philo- 
sophical discussion,  than  the  action  and  influence  of  the 
New  World  upon  the  Old;  or  the  contributions  of 
America  to  Europe. 

2.  Her  obligations  to  Europe  for  science  and   art, 


22' 


258         WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER. 

laws,  literature,  and  manners,  America  acknowledges  as 
she  ought,  with  respect  and  gratitude.  And  the  people 
of  the  United  States,  descendants  of  the  English  stock, 
grateful  for  the  treasures  of  knowledge  derived  from 
their  English  ancestors,  acknowledge,  also,  with  thanks 
and  filial  regard,  that  among  those  ancestors,  under  the 
culture  of  Hampden  and  Sidney,  and  other  assiduous 
friends,  that  seed  of  popular  liberty  first  germinated, 
which,  on  our  soil,  has  shot  up  to  its  full  hight,  until  its 
branches  overshadow  all  the  land. 

3.  But  America  has  not  failed  to  make  returns.  If 
she  has  not  canceled  the  obligation,  or  equaled  it  by 
others  of  like  weight,  she  has,  at  least,  made  respectable 
aavances,  and  some  approaches  toward  equality.  And 
she  admits,  that,  standing  in  the  midst  of  civilized  nations, 
and  in  a  civilized  age,  a  nation  among  nations,  there  is 
a  high  part  which  she  is  expected  to  act,  for  the  general 
advance  of  human  interests  and  human  welfare. 

4.  American  mines  have  filled  the  mints  of  Europe 
with  the  precious  metals  ;  the  productions  of  the  Amer- 
ican soil  and  climate  have  poured  out  their  abundance 
of  luxuries  for  the  tables  of  the  rich,  and  of  necessaries 
for  the  sustenance  of  the  poor ;  birds  and  animals  of 
beauty  and  value  have  been  added  to  the  European 
stocks  ;  and  transplantations  from  the  transcendent  and 
unequaled  riches  of  our  forests  have  mingled  themselves 
profusely  with  the  elms,  and  ashes,  and  druidical  oaks  of 
England. 

5.  America  has  made  contributions  far  more  vast. 
Who  can  estimate  the  amount,  or  the  value,  or  the  aug- 
mentation of  the  commerce  of  the  world,  that  has  re- 
sulted from  America  ?  Who  can  imagine  to  himself 
what  would  be  the  shock  to  the  eastern  continent,  if  the 
Atlantic  were  no  longer  traversable,  or  there  were  no 
longer  American  productions  or  American  markets  ? 


WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER.         259 

6.  But  America  exercises  influences,  or  holds  out 
examples,  for  the  consideration  of  the  Old  World,  of  a 
much  higher,  because  they  are  of  a  moral  and  political, 
character.  America  has  furnished  to  Europe  proof  of 
the  fact,  that  popular  institutions,  founded  on  equality 
and  the  principle  of  representation,  are  capable  of  main- 
taining governments — able  to  secure  the  rights  of  per- 
sons, property,  and  reputation. 

7.  America  has  proved  that  it  is  practicable  to  elevate 
the  mass  of  mankind — that  portion  which,  in  Europe,  is 
called  the  laboring  or  lower  class  ;  to  raise  them  to  self- 
respect — to  make  them  competent  to  act  a  part  in  the 
great  right  and  great  duty  of  self-government ;  and  this, 
she  has  proved,  may  be  done  by  the  diffusion  of  knowl- 
edge. She  holds  out  an  example  a  thousand  times  more 
enchanting  than  ever  was  presented  before,  to  those 
nine-tenths  of  the  human  race  who  are  born  without 
hereditary  fortune  or  hereditary  rank. 

8.  America  has  furnished  to  the  world  the  character 
of  Washington.  And  if  our  American  institutions  had 
done  nothing  else,  that  alone  would  have  entitled  them 
to  the  respect  of  mankind.  Washington  !  "  First  in 
war,  first  in  peace,  and  first  in  the  hearts  of  his  country- 
men !"     Washington  is  all  our  own  ! 

9.  The  enthusiastic  veneration  and  regard  in  which 
the  people  of  the  United  States  hold  him,  prove  them  to 
be  worthy  of  such  a  countryman ;  while  his  reputation 
abroad  reflects  the  highest  honor  on  his  country  and  its  [j 
institutions.  I  would  cheerfully  put  the  question  to  any 
of  the  intelligence  of  Europe  and  the  world,  what  char 
acter  of  the  century,  upon  the  whole,  stands  out  on  the  ; 
relief  of  history,  most  pure,  most  respectable,  most  sub- 
lime ;  and  I  doubt  not  that,  by  a  suffrage  approaching 
to  unanimity,  the  answer  would  be — Washington  ! 

10.  This  structure,  by  its  uprightness,  its  solidity,  its 


260  webb's  fourth  PwEAder. 

durability,  is  no  unfit  emblem  of  his  character.  His  pub- 
lic virtue  and  public  principles  were  as  firm  as  the  earth 
on  which  it  stands — his  personal  motives  as  pure  as  the 
serene  heaven  in  which  its  summit  is  lost.  But,  indeed, 
though  a  fit,  it  is  an  inadequate,  emblem.  Towering 
high  above  the  column  which  our  hands  have  builded, 
beheld  not  by  the  inhabitants  of  a  single  city,  or  a  single 
state,  ascends  the  colossal  grandeur  of  his  character  and 
his  life.  In  all  the  constituents  of  the  one — in  all  the 
acts  of  the  other — in  all  its  titles  to  immortal  love,  admi- 
ration, and  renown — it  is  an  American  production. 

11.  It  is  the  embodiment  and  vindication  of  our  trans- 
atlantic liberty.  Born  upon  our  soil,  of  parents  also  born 
upon  it ;  never,  for  a  moment,  having  had  a  sight  of  the 
old  world ;  instructed,  according  to  the  modes  of  his 
time,  only  in  the  spare  but  wholesome  elementary  knowl- 
edge which  our  institutions  provide  for  the  children  of 
the  people  ;  growing  up  beneath,  and  penetrated  by,  the 
genuine  influence  of  American  society  ;  growing  up  amid 
our  expanding  but  not  luxurious  civilization  ;  partaking 
in  our  great  destiny  of  labor,  our  long  contest  with  un- 
reclaimed nature  and  uncivilized  man  ;  our  agony  of 
glory,  the  war  of  independence,  our  great  victory  of 
peace,  the  formation  of  the  Union,  and  the  establishment 
of  the  constitution  ;  he  is  all,  all  our  own !  That  crowd- 
ed and  glorious  life, 

"*Where  multitudes  of  virtues  passed  along, 
Each  pressing  foremost  in  the  mighty  throng, 
Contending  to  be  seen,  then  making  room 
For  greater  multitudes  that  were  to  come ; — " 

that  life  was  the  life  of  an  American  citizen. 

12.  I  claim  him  for  America.  In  all  the  perils,  in 
every  darkened  moment  of  the  state,  in  the  midst  of  the 
reproaches  of  enemies  and  the  misgivings  of  friends,  I 


WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER.         261 

turn  to  that  transcendent  name  for  courage  and  for  con- 
solation. To  him  who  denies  or  doubts  whether  our 
fervid  liberty  can  be  combined  with  law,  with  order, 
with  the  security  of  property,  with  the  pursuits  and  ad- 
vancement of  happiness  ;  to  him  who  denies  that  our  in- 
stitutions are  capable  of  producing  exaltation  of  soul  and 
the  passion  of  true  glory  ;  to  him  who  denies  that  we 
have  contributed  any  to  the  stock  of  great  lessons  and 
great  examples ;  to  all  these  I  reply,  by  pointing  to  Wash- 
ington ! 

Webster. 


LESSON  CIX. 

WASHINGTON. 

1.  La.nd  of  the  West !  though  passing  brief  the  record  of  thine 

age, 
Thou  hast  a  name  that  darkens  all  on  history's  wide  page : 
Let  all  the  blasts  of  fame  ring  out — thine  shall  be  the  loud- 
est far ; 
Let  others  boast  their  satellites — thou  hast  the  planet  star : 
Tis  stamp'd  upon  the  dullest  brain,  and  warms  the  coldest 

heart, — 
A  war-cry  fit  for  any  land  where  freedom's  to  be  won : 
Land  of  the  West !  it  stands  alone — it  is  thy  Washington  ! 

2.  Rome  had  its  Csesar,  great  and  brave,  but  stain  was  on  his 

wreath, 
He  lived  the  heartless  conqueror,  and  died  the  tyrant's 

death ; 
France  had  its  eagle,  but  his  wings,  though  lofty  they  might 

soar, 
Were  spread  in  false  ambition's  flight,  and  dipped  in  murder's 

gore. 


262         WEBB'S  FOURTH  HEADER. 

Those  hero-gods,  whose  mighty  sway  would  fain  have  chain'd 

the  waves ; 
Who  flesh'd  their  blades  with  tiger  zeal,  to  make  a  world  of 

slaves ; 
Who,  though  their  kindred  barr'd  the  path,  still  fiercely 

waded  on  ; 
Oh,  where  shall  be  their  "glory"  by  the  side  of  Washington? 

3.  He  fought,  but  not  with  love  of  strife  ;  he  struck  but  to 

defend ; 
And  ere  he  turned  a  people's  foe,  he  sought  to  be  a  friend  : 
He  strove  to  keep  his  country's  right  by  reason's  gentle 

word, 
And  sighed  when  fell  injustice  threw  the  challenge, — sword 

to  sword : 
He  stood  the  firm,  the  calm,  the  wise,  the  patriot,  and  the 

sage : 
He  showed  no  deep  avenging  hate,  no  burst  of  despot  rage  ; 
He  stood  for  Liberty  and  Truth,  and  dauntlessly  led  on, 
Till  shouts  of  victory  gave  forth  the  name  of  Washington  ! 

4.  No  car  of  triumph  bore  him  through  a  city  filled  with  grief ; 
No  groaning  captives  at  the  wheels  proclaim'd  him  victor 

chief ; 
He  broke  the  gyves  of  slavery,  with  strong  and  high  disdain, 
And  forged  no  scepter  from  the  links,  when  he  had  crushed 

the  chain. 
He  saved  his  land ;  but  did  not  lay  his  soldier  trappings 

down, 
To  change  them  for  the  regal  vest,  and  "don"  a  kingly 

crown. 
Fame  was  too  earnest  in  her  joy — too  proud  of  such  a  son — 
To  let  a  robe  and  title  mask  a  noble  Washington  ! 

5.  England  !    my  heart  is  truly  thine,  my  loved,  my  native 

earth  ! 
The  land  that  holds  a  mother's  grave,  and  gave  that  mother 
birth ; 


WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER.         263 

Oh,  keenly  sad  would  be  the  fate  that  thrust  me  from  thy 
shore, 

And  faltering  my  breath  that  sighed,  "  Farewell,  for  ever- 
more !" 

But  did  I  meet  such  adverse  lot,  I  would  not  seek  to  dwell 

Where  olden  heroe3  wrought  the  deeds  for  Homer's  songs 
to  tell ; 

"  Away,  thou  gallan*  ship  !"  I'd  cry,  "  and  bear  me  swiftly 
on  ; 

But  bear  me  from  my  own  fair  land  to  that  of  Washington  !" 

Eliza  Cook. 


LESSON  CX. 

THE  TEMPERATE  AND  DISSOLUTE  MAN.* 

1.  I  ask  the  young  man,  then,  who  is  just  forming  his 
habits  of  life,  or  just  beginning  to  indulge  those  habitual 
trains  of  thought  out  of  which  habits  grow,  to  look 
around  him  and  mark  the  examples  whose  fortunes  he 
would  court,  or  whose  fate  he  would  abhor.  Even  as 
we  walk  the  streets,  we  meet  with  exhibitions  of  each 
extreme. 

2.  Here,  behold  a  patriarch,  whose  stock  of  vigor 
threescore  years  and  ten  seem  hardly  to  have  impaired. 
His  erect  form,  his  firm  step,  his  elastic  limbs,  and  un- 
diminished senses,  are  so  many  certificates  of  good 
moral  conduct ;  or,  rather,  so  many  jewels  and  orders 
of  nobility  with  which  nature  has  honored  him  for  his 
fidelity  to  her  laws. 

3.  His  fair  complexion  shows  that  his  blood  has  never 


*  An  extract  from  an  admirable  little  work  entitled  "  Thoughts  for 
a  Young  Maa" 


264         WEBB'S  FOURTH  HEADER. 

been  corrupted ;  his  pure  breath,  that  he  has  never 
yielded  his  digestive  apparatus  for  a  vintner's  cess- 
pool ;  his  exact  language  and  keen  apprehension,  that 
his  brain  has  never  been  drugged  or  stupefied  by  the 
poisons  of  the  distiller  or  tobacconist. 

4.  Enjoying  his  appetites  to  the  highest,  he  has  pre- 
served the  power  of  enjoying  them.  Despite  the  moral 
of  the  school-boy's  story,  he  has  eaten  his  cake,  and  still 
keeps  it.  As  he  drains  the  cup  of  life,  there  are  no  lees 
at  the  bottom.  His  organs  will  reach  the  goal  of  ex- 
istence together ;  painlessly  as  a  candle  burns  down  in 
its  socket,  so  will  he  expire ;  and  a  little  imagination 
would  convert  him  into  another  Enoch,  translated  from 
earth  to  a  better  world,  without  the  sting  of  death. 

5.  But  look  at  an  opposite  extreme,  where  an  opposite 
history  is  recorded.  What  wreck  so  shocking  to  be- 
hold as  the  wreck  of  a  dissolute  man ;— the  vigor  of  life 
exhausted,  and  yet  the  first  step  in  an  honorable  course 
not  taken ;  in  himself  a  lazar-house  of  disease ;  dead, 
but  by  a  heathenish  custom  of  society,  not  buried ! 

6.  Rogues  have  had  the  initial  letter  of  their  title 
burnt  into  the  palms  of  their  hands ;  even  for  murder, 
Cain  was  only  branded  on  the  forehead ;  but  over  the 
whole  person  of  the  debauchee  or  the  inebriate,  the 
signatures  of  infamy  are  written.  How  nature  brands 
him  with  stigma  and  opprobrium !  How  she  hangs 
labels  all  over  him,  to  testify  her  disgust  at  his  existence, 
and  to  admonish  others  to  beware  of  his  example ! 

7.  How  she  loosens  all  his  joints,  sends  tremor  along 
his  muscles,  and  bends  forward  his  frame,  as  if  to  bring 
him  upon  all-fours  with  kindred  brutes,  or  to  degrade 
him  to  the  reptile's  crawling!  How  she  disfigures  his 
countenance,  as  if  intent  upon  obliterating  all  traces  of 
her  own  image,  so  that  she  may  swear  she  never  made 
him !     How  she  pours  rheum  over  his  eyes,  sends  foul 


WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER.         265 

spirits  to  inhabit  his  breath,  and  shrieks,  as  with  a 
trumpet,  from  every  pore  of  his  body,  "  Behold  a 
Beast  !" 

8.  Now  let  the  young  man,  rejoicing  in  his  manly 
proportions,  and  in  his  comeliness,  look  on  this  picture 
and  on  that,  and  then  say,  after  the  likeness  of  which 
model  he  intends  his  own  erect  stature  and  sublime 
countenance  shall  be  configured. 

Horace  Mann. 


2.  Fi  del'  i  ty,  faithfulness. 

3.  Vint'  ner,  a  seller  or  dealer  in  wine.     Cess'-pool,  a  cavity  to  receive 
filthy  liquid. 

4.  Lees,  dregs. 

5.  Dis'  so  lute,  loose  in  moral*.    Lft'  zar-house,  a  house  for  persons 
affected  with  nauseous  disease*. 


LESSON   CXI. 


THE  TEMPLE  OP  KNOWLEDGE. 


[Conclusion  of  "  A  Lecture  before  the  members  of  the  Albany  Female  Academy,  at 
the  close  of  the  Annual  Course  on  Astronomy,  delivered  April  2,  1845.] 

1.  I  remember  my  feelings  when  a  boy  on  first  enter- 
ing the  Cathedral  of  St.  Paul,  in  London.  While  I 
gazed  on  that  magnificent  structure,  I  thought  that  if 
any  thing  made  with  hands  was  worthy  of  the  Divinity, 
it  was  such  a  temple.  And  while  I  surveyed  the  statues, 
monuments,  and  obelisks — those  envied  emblems  of 
earthly  immortality  erected  to  departed  worth,  and 
valor,  and  genius ;  and  when,  high  above  all,  around 
that  lofty  dome,  I  saw  displayed  the  flags  and  banners  of 
almost  every  nation  on  earth — the  honored  trophies  of 

23 


266         WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER. 

hard-fought  contests  in  field  and  flood  for  a  thousand 
years — I  confess,  boy  as  I  was,  I  could  not  repress  a 
feeling  of  pride,  as  if  part  of  the  honor  was  shared  by 
me  in  belonging  to  the  race. 

2.  Young  ladies,  the  temple  of  knowledge  to  which 
education  introduces  you,  is  in  many  respects  the  coun- 
terpart of  that  which  I  have  thus  faintly  described.  It 
is  a  venerable,  an  enormous  pile ;  the  work  of  nearly 
sixtv  centuries ;  rude  and  contracted  in  its  beginning, 
but  enlarged  from  time  to  time,  through  the  long  suc- 
cession of  generations,  as  new  conquests  have  been 
made,  and  fresh  trophies  won. 

3.  As  we  stand  in  the  vestibule  and  cast  our  eyes 
within,  we  may  well  feel  awe-struck  at  the  augustness 
of  the  scene,  disclosing  an  extent  so  vast,  and  objects  so 
innumerable,  as  to  dazzle  and  bewilder.  Contributions 
from  every  age  and  clime,  and  people  and  tongue,  are 
there.  In  the  innermost  recesses,  dim  and  dark,  and 
almost  lost  in  the  obscurity  of  distance,  are  discovered 
memorials  of  the  years  before  the  flood ;  while  close  to 
the  vestibule,  in  bright  and  bold  relief,  are  deposited  the 
trophies  of  yesterday. 

4.  There,  are  the  labors  of  the  solitary  cell,  the  mid- 
night taper,  the  over-worked  brain,  the  wasting  frame, 
the  deathless,  quenchless  spirit,  whose  flame  was  fed  by 
the  immortality  which,. with  prophetic  foresight,  it  knew 
it  had  already  achieved.  But  why  enumerate  ?  There, 
are  the  accumulated  riches  of  the  race,  made  up  by 
tributes  from  every  land.  There,  is  all  that  man  has 
won,  and  calls  his  own. 

5.  Who  does  not  feel  an  interest — which  of  you  does 
not  feel  an  interest — may  I  not  say  a  pride — in  this,  the 
common  property  of  the  race  ?  Which  of  you  does  not 
wish  to  contribute  something  to  the  common  stock — 
some  little  relic,  that  shall  outlive  her  own  brief  span  of 


WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER.         267 

being,  and  tell  spectators  of  a  future  age,  the  story  of 
her  birth  ?  Who  is  there  in  whose  bosom  there  breathes 
no  aspiration,  at  least,  to  enter  this  temple  of  knowledge, 
and  see  before  she  dies,  what  man  has  done  ? 

6.  But  there  is  another  temple,  to  which,  in  conclu- 
sion, I  would  lead  your  thoughts ;  a  temple  in  which 
there  is  found  not  in  a  single  beholder  an  emotion  of 
pride,  but  where  every  such  feeling  dies  within  the 
breast.  It  is  the  temple  of  the  Universe — a  temple  not 
made  with  hands,  whose  architect  is  the  Eternal — a 
temple  whose  dome  is  immensity,  whose  lamps  are  the 
ever-burning  stars — a  temple  of  which  Earth  is  but  one 
of  ten  thousand  times  ten  thousand  altars,  and  man 
himself  one  of  the  lowliest  of  its  countless  worshipers. 

7.  Oh !  if  there  is  one  species  of  insanity  that  towers 
above  all  others,  surely  it  is  the  madness  of  the  "  unde- 
vout  astronomer"  who  can  gaze  on  such  a  scene  as 
this,  and,  as  he  turns  away  from  the  sight,  exclaim, 
"  There  is  no  God  /"  In  St.  Paul's  Cathedral,  while  the 
stranger  is  lost  in  admiration  of  the  physical  grandeur 
of  the  structure,  his  eye  is  arrested  by  a  lofty  and  con- 
spicuous inscription  :  "  If  you  seek  my  monument,  look 
around." 

8.  This  is  the  epitaph  of  Sir  Christopher  Wren,  the 
architect  of  the  work ;  and  as  the  stranger  obeys  the 
injunction,  and  looks  around,  he  pays  involuntary 
homage  to  the  genius  and  memory  of  the  man.  And 
is  there  no  similar  inscription  in  memorial  of  the  Ever- 
lasting, carved  in  characters  of  living  glory  on  the  walls 
of  the  Universal  temple,  in  language  understood  by 
savage  and  by  sage,  and  which  finds  its  interpretation 
in  every  heart  ? 

9.  Who  is  there  that  surveys  in  a  star-lit  night  this 
most  imposing  spectacle,  amid  that  pervading,  almost 
startling  silence,  which  he  knows  to  be  coeval  with  eter- 


268         WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER. 

nity,  and  does  not  feel  inclined  to  stand  with  uncovered 
head,  and  awe-struck  spirit,  and  even  suppressed  breath, 
while  he  feels  that  the  earth  on  which  he  stands  is  but 
the  vestibule  of  creation,  the  porch  of  the  universe,  the 
first  step  within  the  portals  of  that  temple  of  Nature,  of 
which  he  is  thus  permitted  to  discern  only  the  dim,  and 
distant,  and  shadowy  outlines  ? 

10.  And  while  the  earth  seems  to  dwindle  into  a  point, 
and  he  into  an  atom,  as  he  looks  up  into  the  infinitude 
of  space  above,  and  thinks  of  the  infinitude  that  equally 
yawns  beneath  ;  and  then  passes  involuntarily  to  the  idea 
of  the  Unseen  Spirit  whose  presence  pervades  that  in- 
finitude— now,  as  it  ever  did,  and  ever  shall  do — oh,  it 
is  then,  that  all  the  boasted  treasures  of  human  knowl- 
edge, the  achievements  of  science,  and  the  triumphs  of 
reason,  that  lately  seemed  so  vast,  appear  what  in  re- 
ality they  are,  only  a  few  feeble  rays,  permitted  to  ema- 
nate from  the  ineffable  fountain  of  Wisdom  and  In- 
telligence. 

11.  Such  thoughts  as  these  are  the  genuine  results  of 
real  knowledge,  and  above  all,  of  astronomical  knowl- 
edge. Such  thoughts  form  an  infallible  antidote  to  that 
vanity  and  self-esteem  which  superficial  acquirements, 
a  mere  smattering  of  learning,  is  apt  to  inspire.  They 
lift  the  soul  above  the  petty  strifes  and  trifles,  the  ignoble 
aims  and  pursuits,  by  which  so  many  are  engrossed. 

12.  May  we  all  be  permitted  to  cross  the  vestibule  of 
the  great  temple,  to  gain  a  glimpse  even  of  the  shrine 
of  the  Uncreated,  and  with  reason  unclouded,  and  spirit 
unclogged,  and  eye  unsealed,  to  see,  to  admire,  to  adore. 
But  may  I  be  permitted  to  remind  you,  that  into  this 
temple  the  only  means  of  entrance  are  those  prescribed 
in  the  book  of  Truth,  by  Him  who  is  Himself  the  Way, 
the  Truth,  the  Life — Ilyn  who  is  emphatically  the  Great 


WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER.         269 

Teacher,  and  who  descended  from  heaven  to  earth,  to 
achieve  at  once  the  spiritual  education,  and  the  end- 
less happiness,  of  His  erring  children. 

A.  "Watson. 


LESSON    CXII. 

PROGRESS    OF    MIND. 

1.  Oh,  blessed  hour!  the  "  Day-spring  from  on  high" 

Dawns  on  the  darkened  world  :  long-brooding  night 
Rolls  back,  and  morning  breaks  along  the  sky  ; 

While  Wisdom,  stooping  from  her  heavenly  hight, 

Spreads  o'er  the  earth  her  robe  of  dazzling  light. 
The  humblest  now  rejoice  and  feel  no  ban, 

But  seek  for  wisdom  as  their  heaven-born  right, — 
With  pleasure  think,  the  thoughts  of  others  scan, 
And  deem  him  highest  blest  who  best  can  act  the  man  I 

2.  The  mind  aroused  as  ne'er  in  former  years, 

Majestic,  like  the  sun,  moves  on  its  way 
Of  light  from  clime  to  clime,  and  earth  appears 

To  glow  e'en  now  with  bright  millennial  ray  ! 

Old  things  with  golden  times  have  passed  away, 
And  man  no  more  consents  to  plod  his  round 

In  search  of  joys  which  ne'er  his  toils  repay  ; 
But  like  the  winged  light,  with  one  rebound, 
Leaps  to  the  goal  he  seeks,  o'er  hight  and  space  pro- 
found ! 

3.  The  forest  melts  at  his  advancing  stride, 

And  up,  like  magic,  towns  and  cities  spring : 
The  subtile  elements  his  will  abide, 

And  serve  his  wish  as  subjects  serve  their  king. 
Each  day  reveals  some  new,  unheard-of  thing, 


23< 


270         WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER. 

Till  wonder  long  has  ceased  to  feel  surprise : 

Thought  now  is  sent  upon  the  lightning's  wing, 
Which  round  the  circling  earth  obedient  flies, 
With  speed  as  swift  as  e'er  it  flashed  along  the  skies ! 

4.  Thus  Thought  goes  forth  and  holds  the  world  in  awe, 

Subservient  makes  each  known  and  latent  power 
(Led  to  their  springs  by  Truth's  unerring  law), 

Bedecks  the  desert  wild  with  fruit  and  flower, 

And  gleams  from  barren  fields  a  princely  dower ; 
Amid  confusion,  perfect  order  finds, 

A  radiant  sun,  where  clouds  of  darkness  lower ; 
Culls  rarest  gems  from  long-neglected  mines, 
And  purest  bliss  enjoys,  where  Ignorance  repines ! 

5.  O'er  earth,  ere  long,  a  fearful  change  shall  pass, 

Hurled  back  to  chaos,  whence  at  first  it  came, 
Its  beauty  changed  to  one  unshapen  mass, 

As  round  it  spreads  the  fierce  devouring  flame, 

Which  leaves  no  lingering  trace  of  place  or  fame : 
Then  o'er  the  scene  shall  Thought  arise  and  shine  ; 

With  radiant  beams  the  noonday  sun  'twill  shame, 
And  from  the  smoldering  wrecks  of  Earth  and  Time, 
In  triumph  mount  to  God,  Immortal  and  Divine  ! 

Sidney  Drxn. 


LESSON  CXIII. 

LABOR  A  NECESSITY  AND  DUTY. 

1.  Man  is  by  nature  a  being  of  labor.  His  mental 
and  physical  constitution  is  wisely  adapted  to  labor,  and 
he  never  fulfills  his  destiny,  and  obeys  the  laws  of  his 
being,  without  it.  Almost  as  soon  as  the  child  can  raise 
his  head  he  begins  to  shadow  forth  this  inherent  element 


WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER.         271 

— he  labors.  That  which  in  the  child  we  call  play,  is 
ins  labor,  and  most  earnestly  and  faithfully  does  he  per- 
form it. 

2.  Nothing  would  change  the  habits  of  the  child  as  he 
advances  in  life,  but  the  unsound  and  ridiculous  public 
sentiment  which  writes  disgrace  on  the  perspiring  brow 
of  labor.  When  he  is  made  to  feel  and  believe  that  what 
is  called  work  is  disgraceful  or  ungenteel,  he  changes  his 
useful  employments  for  hunting,  horse-racing,  bowling, 
sparring,  billiards,  or  some  other  useless  form  of  filling 
up  his  time,  and  of  obtaining  that  amount  of  physical 
and  mental  exercise  which  the  mind  and  body  must  have, 
or  become  imbecile. 

3.  Thus  the  young  man  obeys  the  instinct  of  his 
nature — he  works  ;  but  he  labors  like  the  galley-slave, 
in  occupations  that  debase  the  morals,  that  enslave  and 
contract  the  intellect,  and  that  do  neither  himself  nor  the 
world  any  valuable  service.  As  well  might  we  shut 
out  the  light  of  day  from  the  young,  as  to  deprive  them 
of  labor — they  will  work. 

4.  If  taught  that  useful  labor  is  disreputable,  they  will 
seek  sports  of  questionable  moral  tendency  on  which  to 
work  off  their  surplus  vitality  and  muscular  energy,  and 
the  world,  as  well  as  themselves,  will  be  deprived  of  all 
the  usefulness  which  they  might  have  accomplished. 
Labor  is  natural  to  man,  and  is  one  of  his  greatest  bless- 
ings. 

5.  It  were  better  for  the  affluent,  the  fortunate,  or 
uNfortunate  inheritors  of  millions,  in  view  of  their  own 
personal  welfare,  to  spend  a  considerable  portion  of  every 
day  in  labor,  producing  something  really  valuable  to  the 
world,  and  adding  to  the  general  stock  of  comforts  or 
embellishments  of  life. 

6.  Fashionable  sports,  or  the  dainty  physical  labor  of 
the  conceited  dandy,  vitiates  the  individual ;  and  while  it 


272         WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER. 

does  the  world  no  good,  it  produces  positive  harm,  by  in- 
spiring the  young  with  a  distaste  for  useful  employment. 
This  begets  idleness,  dissipation,  gambling,  and  even 
theft,  to  enable  the  misled  poor  to  ape  the  life  of  sport 
and  dissipation  of  the  rich. 

7.  Labor  is  any  effort  of  the  mind  and  body  exercised 
to  produce  some  useful  result.  It  is  valuable  only  for 
its  benefit  to  sentient  beings,  particularly  to  the  human 
race.  Nearly  all  that  is  produced  by  labor  is  the  result 
of  the  industrious  toil  of  about  one-half  of  mankind  ;  the 
balance  are  mere  consumers,  drone-bees  in  the  hive  of 
human  society,  who  prey  upon  the  products  of  industry, 
lessen  the  aggregate  of  human  comfort,  and  do  little  or 
nothing  to  compensate  society  for  their  sustenance. 

8.  It  is,  therefore,  not  only  unnatural  and  dishonorable 
to  live  a  life  of  useless,  unproductive  existence,  but  it  is 
social  robbery ;  piracy  upon  the  products  of  the  indus- 
trious world.  No  person  has  a  right  to  live  without  a 
valuable  contribution  to  the  general  stock  of  mind, 
morals,  or  money. 

9.  The  world  supports  him,  and  he  owes  it,  in  return, 
the  efforts  of  his  mind  or  muscles,  in  the  production  of 
the  useful  and  the  true.  To  refuse  to  do  this,  is,  in  a 
moral  point  of  view,  robbery.  The  idiotic,  the  insane, 
and  the  imbecile,  are  excusable,  and  no  others. 

10.  If  haughty,  purse-proud  man  would  take  lessons 
of  industry  from  the  whole  world  of  organic  and  inor- 
ganic matter,  and  carry  out,  as  he  should,  the  indica- 
tions thus  written  in  the  practical  language  of  action — 
useful,  laborious,  universal  action — the  race  of  idlers 
and  non-producers  would,  by  reformation,  cease  to  bur- 
den and  disgrace  the  earth. 

11.  Nature  is  one  great  workshop.  The  tides  and  the 
winds,  electricity  and  magnetism,  the  chemical  and  the 
geological  combinations  and  changes,  the  formation  and 


WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER.         273 

the  development  of  organic  life,  are  all  specimens  of  in- 
cessant industry. 

12.  Shall  the  noblest  work  of  God,  man,  be  the  only 
exception  to  this  great  law  of  industry  ?  Shall  the  earth, 
the  air,  and  the  sea,  be  instinct  with  life  and  action — 
unmitigated  action ;  and  shall  every  species  of  animal, 
from  the  animalcule  to  the  elephant,  exert  an  earnest 
industry;  and  man,  the  master-piece  of  God's  workman- 
ship,  and  who  has  more  wants  than  any  other  animal  in 
existence,  be  either  too  proud  or  too  indolent  to  labor  ?  It 
is  wrong  and  unnatural  to  be  idle,  or  uselessly  employed  ; 
it  is  a  libel  on  existence.  It  should  therefore  be  re- 
garded, as  it  truly  is,  not  only  dishonorable,  but  dis- 
graceful. 

Nelson  Sizer. 


LESSON  CXIV. 

"  THE    MIND'S    THE    STANDARD    OP    THE    MAN." 

1.  "  Could  I  in  stature  reach  the  pole, 
Or  grasp  creation  in  my  span, 
I'd  still  be  measured  by  my  soul : 
The  mind's  the  standard  of  the  man." 

2.  What  truth  was  ever  uttered  more  evident  to  the 
unprejudiced  mind  of  any  person  than  this,  "  The  mind's 
the  standard  of  the  man  ?"  It  is  the  grand  distinctive 
feature  of  man's  organization.  Were  it  not  for  this,  he 
would  be  leveled  to  the  rank  of  a  mere  brute.  His  men- 
tality, then,  is  the  only  part  of  him  which  ought  to  be 
regarded  as  worthy  of  approbation  or  censure. 

3.  The  very  moment  we  estimate  him  by  any  other 
criterion,  we  are  offering  an  insult  to  his  nature  ;  we  are 
erecting  a  standard  which  any  sensible  man  ought  to  re- 


274  WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER. 

gard  as  an  indignity  cast  not  only  on  himself,  but  also 
on  the  Being  who  made  him  to  differ  from  the  lower 
forms  of  animated  matter,  which  are  below  him  in  the 
scale  of  creation. 

4.  But  we  can  not  disguise  the  fact,  that  this  has  never 
been  the  universal  standard  of  estimation.  In  ancient 
times,  feats  of  physical  prowess  were  celebrated  in  poetry 
and  romance,  and  the  athletce  of  the  gymnasium  and 
stadium  were  crowned  with  the  ivy,  amid  the  cheers  and 
congratulations  of  the  multitude.  Mothers  trained  their 
sons,  from  infancy,  to  feats  of  courage  and  hardships, 
and  thought  no  disgrace  greater  than  that  of  Dossessing 
cowardly  offspring. 

5.  To  this  state  of  things,  in  later  times,  succeeded 
that  of  nobility  and  birth.  Time  was  when  a  lord  or  a 
baron  was  distinguished  by  the  dress  which  he  wore,  and 
hundreds  bowed  the  servile  knee  to  the  purple  and  fur 
of  him  who  boasted  greatness  on  account  of  his  pedigree 
and  ancestral  fame.  But  this  standard  of  esteem  is  now 
well-nigh  obliterated — at  least  in  our  own  country. 

6.  We  occasionally  see  its  ghost,  however,  displaying 
its  "shrunk  shanks"  in  some  of  our  large  cities,  as  a 
carriage  rolls  along  its  streets  with  armorial  bearings, 
and  a  driver  and  footman  trimmed  with  gold  lace.  This 
ostentation  admirably  serves  to  mark  the  victims  of 
folly,  so  that  the  wise  and  intelligent  may  look  on  them 
with  detestation  and  pity  :  detestation  that  there  are  any 
so  near  the  door  of  animality  that  they  glory  in  a  badge 
to  distinguish  their  downfall ;  and  pity  that  the  high  and 
holy  attributes  of  man  should  be  put  aside  for  the  de- 
grading paraphernalia  of  the  animal. 

7.  The  race  of  Mammon  has  succeeded  this,  and  we 
have  now  the  almost  universal  consent  that  it  is  wealth 
which  purchases  a  respectable  station  in  the  present  or- 
ganization of  society.     Why  do  the  glittering  mines  of 


WEBB'S  FOURTH  EEADER.  275 

California  allure  the  shoemaker  from  his  bench,  the  black- 
smith from  his  forge,  the  tradesman  from  his  counter, 
the  farmer  from  his  plow,  when  all  are  enjoying  what 
their  nature  demands — the  fruit  of  honest  industry  ? 

8.  Is  it  not  that  they  may  amass  fortunes,  wherewith 
to  be  looked  upon  with  that  esteem  which  they  know 
can  not  be  attained  by  any  other  means  ?  Is  it  not  that 
society  has  erected  wealth  as  a  standard  of  estimation, 
and  they  are  bending  all  their  energies  and  exertions  in 
order  to  display  an  equipage  and  style  equal  to  those  of 
fortune  about  them  ?  If  such  is  the  proper  standard,  let 
it  remain ;  if  not,  let  every  friend  of  man  endeavor  to 
disseminate  correct  notions  concerning  so  important  a 
subject. 

9.  Who  wishes  to  be  esteemed  for  a  mere  animal  pos- 
session ?  Man,  as  he  approaches  the  model  of  pure  in- 
telligence— as  he  stands  the  personification  of  all  that 
goes  to  ennoble  his  immortal  nature,  or  exalt  his  unlim- 
ited capacity — deserves  respect  and  esteem.  If  we  esti- 
mate him  by  the  external  trappings  of  wealth,  we  destroy 
the  greater — that  of  the  mind — and  reduce  him  to  a  de- 
grading comparison  with  the  beast. 

10.  We  say  emphatically,  then,  to  all  mechanics  and 
laboring  men,  improve  the  mind — that  is  the  true  stand- 
ard of  estimation  ;  endeavor  to  understand  your  own  or- 
ganization, both  mental  and  physical ;  yield  to  none  in 
your  desire  for  truth  and  knowledge  ;  cultivate  a  benevo- 
lent and  charitable  disposition  toward  your  fellow-men. 
There  is  a  time  coming  when  this  false  standard  of 
esteem  will  be  swept  away,  and  whether  a  man  has 
riches  or  not  will  be  just  as  small  a  subject  of  inquiry  as 
whether  he  eats  his  victuals  cold  or  hot. 

11.  Improve  the  mind,  then,  for  whether  you  are  re- 
spected by  a  certain  class  or  not,  is  but  a  small  satisfac- 
tion ;  you  will  have  raised  yourself  already  in  the  esti- 


276         WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER. 

mation  of  those  whose  regard  is  worth  ootaining,  and 
exalted  yourself  to  a  pinnacle  from  whence  you  can  look 
at  the  folly  and  the  vain  pursuits  of  others  with  just  in- 
dignation, regarding  their  external  symbols  of  rank  with 
feelings  kindred  to  those  on  beholding  the  elegant  trap- 
pings of  some  caparisoned  steed  in  a  circus  or  a  show. 


LESSON    CXV. 

PASSING      AWAY. 

1.  Was  it  the  chime  of  a  tiny  bell, 

That  came  so  sweet  to  my  dreaming  ear, 
Like  the  silvery  tones  of  a  fairy's  shell, 

That  he  winds  on  the  beach  so  mellow  and  clear ; 
When  the  winds  and  the  waves  lie  together  asleep, 
And  the  moon  and  the  fairy  are  watching  the  deep — 
She  dispensing  her  silvery  light, 
And  he  his  notes  as  silvery  quite — 
While  the  boatman  listens  and  ships  his  oar, 
To  catch  the  music  that  comes  from  the  shore  ? 
Hark  !  the  notes  on  my  ear  that  play, 
Are  set  to  words :  as  they  float,  they  say, 
"  Passing  away  ! — passing  away  !" 

2.  But,  no  !     It  is  not  a  fairy's  shell, 

Blown  on  the  beach,  so  mellow  and  clear  ; 
Nor  was  it  the  tongue  of  a  silver  bell 

Striking  the  hours,  that  fell  on  my  ear, 
As  I  lay  in  my  dream  ;  yet  was  it  a  chime 
That  told  of  the  flow  of  the  stream  of  Time : 
For  a  beautiful  clock  from  the  ceiling  hung, 
And  a  plump  little  girl  for  a  pendulum  swung 


WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER.         277 

(As  you've  sometimes  seen,  in  a  little  ring 
That  hangs  in  his  cage,  a  canary  bird  swing) ; 
And  she  held  to  her  bosom  a  budding  bouquet ; 
And  as  she  enjoyed  it,  she  seemed  to  say, 
"  Passing  away  ! — passing  away  !" 

3.  Oh  !  how  bright  were  the  wheels,  that  told 

Of  the  lapse  of  time,  as  they  moved  round  slow  ! 
And  the  hands,  as  they  swept  o'er  the  dial  of  gold, 

Seemed  to  point  to  the  girl  below. 
And  lo  !  she  had  changed ;  in  a  few  short  hours, 
Her  bouquet  had  become  a  garland  of  flowers, 
That  she  held  in  her  outstretched  hands,  and  flung 
This  way  and  that,  as  she  dancing  swung, 
In  the  fullness  and  grace  of  womanly  pride, 
That  told  me  she  soon  was  to  be  a  bride : 

Yet  then,  when  expecting  her  happiest  day, 
In  the  same  sweet  voice  I  heard  her  say, 
"  Passing  away  ! — passing  away !" 

4.  While  I  gazed  on  that  fair  one's  cheek,  a  shade 

Of  thought,  or  care,  stole,  softly  over, 
Like  that  by  a  cloud  in  a  summer's  day  made, 

Looking  down  on  a  field  of  blossoming  clover. 
The  rose  yet  lay  on  her  cheek,  but  its  flush 
Had  something  lost  of  its  brilliant  blush  ; 

And  the  light  in  her  eye,  and  the  light  on  the  wheels 
That  marched  so  calmly  round  above  her, 

Was  a  little  dimmed — as  when  evening  steals 
Upon  noon's  hot  face  :  yet  one  couldn't  but  love  her  ; 
For  she  looked  like  a  mother  whose  first  babe  lay 
Rocked  on  her  breast,  as  she  swung  all  day  ; 
And  she  seemed  in  the  same  silver  tone  to  say, 
"  Passing  away  ! — passing  away  !" 

5.  While  yet  I  looked,  what  a  change  there  came  ! 

Her  eye  was  quenched,  and  her  cheek  was  wan ; 
Stooping  and  staffed  was  her  withered  frame, 
Yet  just  as  busily  swung  she  on. 


24 


278  WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER. 

The  garland  beneath  her  had  fallen  to  dust ; 
The  wheels  above  her  were  eaten  with  rust ; 
The  hands  that  over  the  dial  swept 
Grew  crooked  and  tarnished,  but  on  they  kept , 
And  still  there  came  that  silver  tone, 
From  the  shriveled  lips  of  the  toothless  crone 
(Let  me  never  forget,  to  my  dying  day, 
The  tone  or  the  burden  of  that  lay ) — 
"  Passing  away  ! — passing  away  !" 

Rev.  J.  Piebpont. 


LESSON  CXVI. 

THE    DIGNITY    OF    HUMAN    NATURE. 

1.  Whoever  yields  to  temptation,  debases  himself 
with  a  debasement  from  which  he  can  never  arise. 
This,  indeed,  is  the  calamity  of  calamities,  the  bitterest 
dreg  in  the  cup  of  bitterness.  Every  unrighteous  act 
tells  with  a  thousand  fold  more  force  upon  the  actor 
than  upon  the  sufferer.  The  false  man  is  more  false  to 
himself  than  to  any  one  else. 

2.  He  may  despoil  others,  but  himself  is  the  chief 
loser.  The  world's  scorn  he  might  sometimes  forget, 
but  the  knowledge  of  his  own  perfidy  is  undying.  The 
fire  of  guilty  passions  may  torment  whatever  lies  with'n 
the  circle  of  its  radiations  ;  but  fire  is  always  hottest  at 
the  center,  and  that  center  is  the  profligate's  own  heart. 

3.  A  man  can  be  wronged,  and  live ;  but  the  unre- 
sisted, unchecked  impulse  to  do  wrong,  is  the  first  and 
the  second  death.  The  moment  any  one  of  the  glorious 
faculties  with  which  God  has  endowed  us  is  abused  or 


If 


WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER.         279 

misused,  that  faculty  loses,  forever,  a  portion  of  its  deli- 
cacy and  its  energy. 

###### 

4.  Every  injury  which  we  inflict  upon  our  moral 
nature,  in  this  life,  must  dull  forever  and  ever  our  keen 
capacities  of  enjoyment,  though  in  the  midst  of  infinite 
bliss,  and  weaken  our  power  of  ascension,  where  vir- 
tuous spirits  are  ever  ascending. 

5.  It  must  send  us  forward  into  the  next  stage  of  ex- 
istence, maimed  and  crippled,  so  that  however  high  we 
may  soar,  our  flight  will  always  be  less  lofty  than  it 
would  otherwise  have  been  ;  and  however  exquisite  our 
bliss,  it  will  be  always  less  exquisitely  blissful  than  it 
was  capable  of  being.  Every  instance  of  violated  con- 
science, like  every  broken  string  in  a  harp,  will  limit  the 
compass  of  its  music,  and  mar  its  harmonies  forever. 

6.  Tremble,  then,  and  forbear,  O  man !  when  thou 
wouldst  forget  the  dignity  of  thy  nature,  and  the  immor- 
tal glories  of  thy  destiny ;  for  if  thou  dost  cast  down 
thine  eyes,  to  look  with  complacency  upon  the  tempter, 
or  bend  thine  ear  to  listen  to  his  seductions,  thou  dost 
doom  thyself  to  move  forever  and  ever  through  inferior 
species  of  being;  thou  dost  wound  and  dim  the  very 
organ,  with  which  alone  thou  canst  behold  the  splendors 
of  eternity ! 

Hoeack  Mann. 


2.  PSr'  fi  dy,  violation  of  trust 

6.  Com  pla'  cen  cy,  pleasure.    Se  due'  tion,  the  act  of  enticing  from 
virtue. 


280         WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER. 

LESSON  CXVII. 

THE     GAMBLER'S      WIFE. 

1.  Dark  is  the  night !     How  dark  !     No  light !     No  fiie ! 
Cold  on  the  hearth,  the  last  faint  sparks  expire  ! 
Shivering  she  watches  by  the  cradle  side, 

For  him  who  pledged  her  love — last  year  a  bride  ! 

2.  "  Hark !  'Tis  his  footstep  ! — 'Tis  past :  'tis  gone ! 
Tick  ! — Tick  !     How  wearily  the  time  crawls  on ! 
Why  should  he  leave  me  thus  ?    He  once  was  kind  ! 
And  I  believed  'twould  last — how  mad  ! — how  blind  ! 

3.  "  Rest  thee,  my  babe  ! — Rest  on  ! — 'Tis  hunger's  cry ! 
Sleep  ! — for  there  is  no  food  ! — The  fount  is  dry  ! 
Famine  and  cold  their  wearying  work  have  done, 

My  heart  must  break ! — and  thou !" — The  clock  strikes 
one. 

4.  "  Hush  !  'tis  the  dice-box  !     Yes,  he's  there,  he's  there  : 
For  this  ! — for  this,  he  leaves  me  to  despair  ! 

Leaves   love !    leaves   truth !    his  wife !    his  child !    For 

what  ? 
The  wanton's  smile — the  villain — and  the  sot ! 

5.  "  Yet  I'll  not  curse  him  !    No !  'tis  all  in  vain  ! 
'Tis  long  to  wait,  but  sure  he'll  come  again  ! 
And  I  could  starve  and  bless  him,  but  for  you, 

My  child  !— his  child !— Oh,  fiend  !"     The  clock  strikes 
two. 

6.  "  Hark  !     How  the  sign-board  creaks  !     The  blast  howls 

by! 
Moan !  Moan !  A  dirge  swells  through  the  cloudy  sky  ! 
Ha  !  'tis  his  knock  !  he  comes ! — he  comes  once  more  ! 
'Tis  but  the  lattice  flaps  !     Thy  hope  is  o'er  ! 


WEBB'S  FOTJKTH  EEADER.  281 

7.  "  Can  he  desert  me  thus  ?     He  knows  I  stay 
Night  after  night  in  loneliness,  to  pray 

For  his  return — and  yet  he  sees  no  tear  ! 
No  !  no  !     It  can  not  be.     He  will  be  here. 

8.  "  Nestle  more  closely,  dear  one,  to  my  heart !     * 
Thou'rt   cold  !      Thou'rt   freezing  !      But   we   will   not 

part ! 
Husband  ! — I  die  ! — Father  ! — It  is  not  he  ! 
0  God  !  protect  my  child  !"     The  clock  strikes  three. 

9.  They're  gone  !    They're  gone !  the  glimmering  spark  hath 

sped! 
The  wife  and  child  are  numbered  with  the  dead  ! 
On  the  cold  hearth  outstretched  in  solemn  rest, 
The  babe  lay  frozen  on  its  mother's  breast ! 
The  gambler  came  at  last — but  all  was  o'er — 
Dead  silence  reigned  around. — The  clock  struck  four  ? 

Dr.  Coates 


LESSON   CXTIII. 


SOUTH      CAROLINA. 


1.  If  there  is  one  state  in  the  Union,  Mr.  President 
(and  I  say  it  not  in  a  boastful  spirit),  that  may  challenge 
comparison  with  any  other  for  a  uniform,  zealous,  ardent, 
and  uncalculating  devotion  to  the  Union,  that  state  is 
South  Carolina.  Sir,  from  the  very  commencement  of 
the  Revolution  up  to  this  hour,  there  is  no  sacrifice,  how- 
ever great,  she  has  not  cheerfully  made ;  no  service  she 
has  ever  hesitated  to  perform.  She  has  adhered  to  you 
in  your  prosperity,  but  in  your  adversity  she  has  clung 
to  you  with  more  than  filial  affection. 

?4* 


282         WEBB'S  FOURTH  KEADER. 

2.  No  matter  what  was  the  condition  of  her  domestic 
affairs,  though  deprived  of  her  resources,  divided  by 
parties,  or  surrounded  by  difficulties,  the  call  of  the 
country  has  been  to  her  as  the  voice  of  God.  Domestic 
discord  ceased  at  the  sound — every  man  became  at  once 
reconciled  to  his  brethren,  and  the  sons  of  Carolina  were 
all  seen  crowding  together  to  the  temple,  bringing  their 
gifts  to  the  altar  of  their  common  country.  What,  sir, 
was  the  conduct  of  the  South  during  the  Revolution  ? 
Sir,  I  honor  New  England  for  her  conduct  in  that  glo- 
rious struggle :  but  great  as  is  the  praise  which  belongs 
to  her,  I  think  at  least  equal  honor  is  due  to  the  South. 

3.  They  espoused  the  quarrel  of  their  brethren  with 
generous  zeal,  which  did  not  suffer  them  to  stop  to  cal- 
culate their  interest  in  the  dispute.  Favorites  of  the 
mother  country,  possessed  of  neither  ships  nor  seamen 
to  create  commercial  rivalship,  they  might  have  found 
in  their  situation  a  guaranty  that  their  trade  would  be 
forever  fostered  and  protected  by  Great  Britain.  But 
trampling  on  all  considerations,  either  of  interest  or  of 
safety,  they  rushed  into  the  conflict,  and  fighting  for 
principle,  periled  all  in  the  sacred  cause  of  freedom. 

4.  Never  was  there  exhibited  in  the  history  of  the 
world  higher  examples  of  noble  daring,  dreadful  suffer- 
ing, and  heroic  endurance,  than  by  the  whigs  of  Carolina 
during  that  revolution.  The  whole  state,  from  the  moun- 
tain to  the  sea,  was  overrun  by  an  overwhelming  force 
of  the  enemy.  The  fruits  of  industry  perished  on  the 
spot  where  they  were  produced,  or  were  consumed  by 
the  foe. 

5.  The  "  plains  of  Carolina"  drank  up  the  most  pre- 
cious blood  of  her  citizens  ;  black  and  smoking  ruins 
n miked  the  places  which  had  been  the  habitations  of  her 
children  !  Driven  from  their  homes  into  the  gloomy 
and  almost  impenetrable  swamps,  even  there  the  spirit 


WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER.         283 

of  liberty  survived,  and  South  Carolina,  sustained  by 
the  example  of  her  Sumpters  and  her  Marions,  proved 
by  her  conduct,  that  though  her  soil  might  be  overrun, 
the  spirit  of  her  people  was  invincible. 

Baynes. 


LESSON   CXIX. 

MASSACHUSETTS. 

1.  The  eulogium  pronounced  on  the  character  of  the 
state  of  South  Carolina  by  the  honorable  gentleman, 
for  her  revolutionary  and  other  merits,  meets  my  hearty 
concurrence.  I  shall  not  acknowledge  that  the  honora- 
ble member  goes  before  me  in  regard  for  whatever  of 
distinguished  talent,  or  distinguished  character,  South 
Carolina  has  produced. 

2.  I  claim  part  of  the  honor :  I  partake  in  the  pride 
of  her  great  names.  I  claim  them  for  countrymen,  one 
and  all.  The  Laurenses,  Rutledges,  the  Pinckneys,  the 
Sumpters,  the  Marions — Americans  all — whose  fame  is 
no  more  to  be  hemmed  in  by  state  lines,  than  their  tal- 
ents and  patriotism  were  capable  of  being  circumscribed 
within  the  same  narrow  limits. 

3.  In  their  day  and  generation  they  served  and  honored 
the  country,  and  the  whole  country,  and  their  renown  is 
of  the  treasures  of  the  whole  country.  Him,  whose 
honored  name  the  gentleman  bears  himself — does  he 
suppose  me  less  capable  of  gratitude  for  his  patriotism, 
or  sympathy  for  his  sufferings,  than  if  his  eyes  had  first 
opened  upon  the  light  in  Massachusetts  instead  of  South 
Carolina  ? 

4.  Sir,  does  he  suppose  it  in  his  power  to  exhibit  aCaro- 


284         WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER. 

Una  name  so  bright  as  to  produce  envy  in  my  bosom  ? 
No,  sir, — increased  gratification  and  delight,  rather.  Sir, 
I  thank  God,  that  if  I  am  gifted  with  little  of  the  spirit 
which  is  said  to  be  able  to  raise  mortals  to  the  skies,  I 
have  yet  none,  as  I  trust,  of  that  other  spirit,  which  would 
drag  angels  down. 

5.  When  I  shall  be  found,  sir,  in  my  place  here  in  the 
senate,  or  elsewhere,  to  sneer  at  public  merit,  because  it 
happened  to  spring  up  beyond  the  little  limits  of  my  own 
state  and  neighborhood ;  when  I  refuse,  for  any  such 
cause,  or  for  any  cause,  the  homage  due  to  American 
talent,  to  elevated  patriotism,  to  sincere  devotion  to 
liberty  and  the  country ;  or  if  I  see  an  uncommon  en- 
dowment of  Heaven — if  I  see  extraordinary  capacity 
and  virtue  in  any  son  of  the  South — and  if,  moved  by 
local  prejudice,  or  gangrened  by  state  jealousy,  I  get 
up  here  to  abate  the  tithe  of  a  hair  from  his  just  char- 
acter and  just  fame,  may  my  tongue  cleave  to  the  roof 
of  my  mouth ! 

6.  Sir,  let  me  recur  to  pleasing  recollections ;  let  me 
indulge  in  refreshing  remembrances  of  the  past ;  let  me 
remind  you  that  in  early  times  no  states  cherished 
greater  harmony,  both  of  principle  and  of  feeling,  than 
Massachusetts  and  South  Carolina.  Would  to  God  that 
harmony  might  again  return.  Shoulder  to  shoulder  they 
went  through  the  Revolution — hand  in  hand  they  stood 
round  the  administration  of  Washington,  and  felt  his  own 
great  arm  lean  on  them  for  support.  Unkind  feeling,  if  it 
exist,  alienation  and  distrust,  are  the  growth,  unnatural 
to  such  soils,  of  false  principles  since  sown.  They  are 
weeds,  the  seeds  of  which  that  same  great  arm  never 
scattered. 

7.  Mr.  President,  I  shall  enter  on  no  encomium  upon 
Massachusetts — she  needs  none.  There  she  is  ;  behold 
her  and  judge  for  yourselves.     There  is  her  history — 


WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER.         285 

the  world  knows  1  by  heart.  The  past,  at  least,  is  secure. 
There  is  Boston,  and  Concord,  and  Lexington,  and  Bun- 
ker's Hill;  and  there  they  will  remain  forever.  The 
bones  of  her  sons,  fallen  in  the  great  struggle  for  inde- 
pendence, now  lie  mingled  with  the  soil  of  every  state, 
from  New  England  to  Georgia ;  and  there  they  will  lie 
forever. 

8.  And,  sir,  where  American  liberty  raised  its  first 
voice,  and  where  its  youth  was  nurtured  and  sustained, 
there  it  still  lives,  in  the  strength  of  its  manhood,  and 
full  of  its  original  spirit.  If  discord  and  disunion  shall 
wound  it ;  if  party  strife  and  blind  ambition  shall  hawk 
at  and  tear  it ;  if  folly  and  madness,  if  uneasiness,  under 
salutary  and  necessary  restraint,  shall  succeed  to  separate 
it  from  that  Union,  by  which  alone  its  existence  is  made 
sure,  it  will  stand,  in  the  end,  by  the  side  of  that  cradle 
in  which  its  infancy  was  rocked ;  it  will  stretch  forth 
its  arm  with  whatever  of  vigor  it  may  still  retain,  over 
the  friends  who  gather  around  it ;  and  it  will  fall  at  last, 
if  fall  it  must,  amid  the  proudest  monuments  of  its  own 
glory,  and  on  the  very  spot  of  its  origin. 

WlBSTIK. 


LESSON    CXX, 

HYMN    OP    THE^CHURCH-YARD. 

1.  Ah  me  !  this  is  a  sad  and  silent  city ; 

Let  me  walk  softly  o'er  it,  and  survey 
Its  grassy  streets  with  melancholy  pity ! 

Where  are  its  children  ?  where  their  gleesome  play  ? 
Alas !  their  cradled  rest  is  cold  and  deep — 
Their  playthings  are  thrown  by,  and  they  asleep.. 


286      webb's  fourth  reader. 

2.  This  is  pale  beauty's  bourn ;  but  where  the  beautiful, 

Whom  I  have  seen  come  forth  at  evening's  hours, 
Leading  their  aged  friends  with  feelings  dutiful 

Amid  the  wreaths  of  Spring,  to  gather  flowers  ? 
Alas !  no  flowers  are  here  but  flowers  of  death, 
And  those  who  once  were  sweetest  sleep  beneath. 

3.  This  is  a  populous  place  ;  but  where  the  bustling, 

The  crowded  buyers  of  the  noisy  mart — 
The  lookers-on — the  snowy  garments  rustling — 

The  money-changers — and  the  men  of  art  ? 
Business,  alas  !  hath  stopped  in  mid  career, 
And  none  are  anxious  to  resume  it  here. 

4.  This  is  the  home  of  grandeur ;  where  are  they — 

The  rich,  the  great,  the  glorious,  and  the  wise  ? 
Where  are  the  trappings  of  the  proud,  the  gay — 

The  gaudy  guise  of  human  butterflies  ? 
Alas !  all  lowly  lies  each  lofty  brow, 
And  the  green  sod  dizens  their  beauty  now. 

5.  This  is  the  place  of  refuge  and  repose ; 

Where  are  the  poor,  the  old,  the  weary  wight, 
The  scorned,  the  humble,  and  the  man  of  woes, 

Who  wept  for  morn,  and  sighed  again  for  night  ? 
Their  sighs  at  last  have  ceased,  and  here  they  sleep 
Beside  their  scorners,  and  forget  to  weep. 

6.  This  is  a  place  of  gloom ;  where  are  the  gloomy  ? 

The  gloomy  are  not  citizens  of  death ; 
Approach  and  look,  where  tho  long  grass  is  plumy ; 

See  them  above !  they  are  not  found  beneath  ; 
For  these  low  denizens,  with  artful  wiles, 
Nature,  in  flowers,  contrives  her  mimic  smiles. 

7.  This  is  a  place  of  sorrow  !  friends  have  met 

And  mingled  tears  o'er  those  who  answer  not ; 


WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER.         287 

And  where  are  they  whose  eyelids  then  were  wet  ? 

Alas !  their  griefs,  their  tears,  are  all  forgot  : 
They,  too,  are  landed  in  this  silent  city, 
Where  there  is  neither  love,  nor  tears,  nor  pity. 

8.  This  is  a  place  of  fear ;  the  firmest  eye 

Hath  quailed  to  see  its  shadowy  dreariness ; 
But  Christian  hope,  and  heavenly  prospects  high, 

And  earthly  cares,  and  nature's  weariness, 
Have  made  the  timid  pilgrim  cease  to  fear, 
And  long  to  end  his  painful  journey  here. 

Heney  W.  Longfellow. 


LESSON  CXXI. 

SPEECH     OF     JAMES     OTIS. 

1.  England  may  as  well  dam  up  the  waters  of  the 
Nile  with  bulrushes,  as  to  fetter  the  step  of  freedom, 
more  proud  and  firm  in  this  youthful  land,  than  where 
she  treads  the  sequestered  glens  of  Scotland,  or  couches 
herself  among  the  magnificent  mountains  of  Switzerland. 
Arbitrary  principles,  like  those  against  which  we  now 
contend,  have  cost  one  king  of  England  his  life,  another 
his  crown,  and  they  may  yet  cost  a  third  his  most  flour- 
ishing colonies. 

2.  We  are  two  millions — one-fifth  fighting  men.  We 
are  bold  and  vigorous,  and  we  call  no  man  master.  To 
the  nation,  from  whom  we  are  proud  to  derive  oui 
origin,  we  ever  were,  and  we  ever  will  be,  ready  to 
yield  unforced  assistance  ;  but  it  must  not,  and  it  never 
can  be  extorted. 

3.  Some  have  sneeringly  asked,  "  Are  the  Americans 


288         WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER. 

too  poor  to  pay  a  few  pounds  on  stamped  paper  ?"  No ! 
America,  thanks  to  God  and  herself,  is  rich.  But  the 
right  to  take  ten  pounds,  implies  the  right  to  take  a 
thousand ;  and  what  must  be  the  wealth,  that  avarice, 
aided  by  power,  can  not  exhaust  ?  True,  the  specter  is 
now  small ;  but  the  shadow  he  casts  before  him  is  huge 
enough  to  darken  all  this  fair  land. 

4.  Others,  in  sentimental  style,  talk  of  the  immense 
debt  of  gratitude  which  we  owe  to  England.  And  what 
is  the  amount  of  this  debt  ?  Why,  truly,  it  is  the  same 
that  the  young  lion  owes  to  the  dam,  which  has  brought 
it  forth  on  the  solitude  of  the  mountain,  or  left  it  amid 
the  winds  and  storms  of  the  desert. 

5.  We  plunged  into  the  waves,  with  the  great  charter 
of  freedom  in  our  teeth,  because  the  fagot  and  torch  were 
behind  us.  We  have  waked  the  new  world  from  its 
savage  lethargy ;  forests  have  been  prostrated  in  our  path ; 
towns  and  cities  have  grown  up  suddenly  as  the  flowers 
of  the  tropics,  and  the  fires  in  our  autumnal  woods  are 
scarcely  more  rapid  than  the  increase  of  our  wealth  and 
population.  And  do  we  owe  all  this  to  the  kind  succor 
of  the  mother  country  ?  No !  we  owe  it  to  the  tyranny 
that  drove  us  from  her  to  the  pelting  storms  which  in- 
vigorated our  helpless  infancy. 

6.  But  perhaps  others  will  say,  "  We  ask  no  money 
from  your  gratitude — we  only  demand  that  you  should 
pay  your  own  expenses."  And  who,  I  pray,  is  to  judge 
of  t!  eir  necessity?  Why,  the  king — (and  with  all  due 
reverence  to  his  sacred  majesty,  he  understands  the  real 
wants  of  his  distant  subjects,  as  little  as  he  does  the  lan- 
guage of  the  Choctaws.) 

7.  Who  is  to  judge  concerning  the  frequency  of  these 
demands  ?  The  ministry.  Who  is  to  judge  whether 
the  money  is  properly  expended  ?  The  cabinet  behind 
the  throne.     In  every  instance,  those  who  take  are  to 


WEBB'S  EOTJKTH  READER.  289 

judge  for  those  who  pay ;  if  this  system  is  suffered  to 
go  into  operation,  we  shall  have  reason  to  esteem  it  a 
great  privilege,  that  rain  and  dew  do  not  depend  upon 
Parliament ;  otherwise  they  would  soon  be  taxed  and 
dried. 

8.  But  thanks  to  God  there  is  freedom  enough  left 
upon  earth  to  resist  such  monstrous  injustice.  The 
flame  of  liberty  is  extinguished  in  Greece  and  Rome,  but 
the  light  of  its  glowing  embers  is  still  bright  and  strong 
on  the  shores  of  America.  Actuated  by  its  sacred  in- 
fluence, we  will  resist  unto  death.  But  we  will  not 
countenance  anarchy  and  misrule. 

9.  The  wrongs,  that  a  desperate  community  have 
heaped  upon  their  enemies,  shall  be  amply  and  speedily 
repaired.  Still,  it  may  be  well  for  some  proud  men  to 
remember,  that  a  fire  is  lighted  in  these  colonies,  which 
one  breath  of  their  king  may  kindle  into  such  fury, 
that  the  blood  of  all  England  can  not  extinguish  it. 


LESSON  CXXII. 

SELECT     SENTENCES. 

Letters. 

Sage  Cadmus,  hail !     To  thee  the  Grecians  owed 
The  art  and  science  that  from  letters  flowed  : 
To  thy  great  mind  indebted  sages  stand, 
And  grateful  learning  owns  thy  guardian  hand. 

Printing. 

Hail,  mystic  art !  which  sage-like  men  have  taught 
To  speak  to  eyes  and  paint  unbodied  thought ! 

25 


290         WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER. 

Though  deaf  and  dumb,  blest  skill,  relieved  by  thee, 
We  make  one  sense  perform  the  task  of  three. 

Words. 
In  all  your  words  let  energy  be  found, 
And  learn  to  rise  in  sense  and  sink  in  sound. 
Harsh  words,  though  pertinent,  uncouth  appear ; 
None  please  the  fancy  which  offend  the  ear. 

Education. 
Youth  like  the  softened  wax,  with  ease  will  take 
Those  images  that  first  impressions  make : 
If  these  are  fair  their  lives  will  all  be  bright, 
If  dark,  they'll  cloud  it  all  with  shades  of  night. 

Wisdom. 
Wisdom's  an  evenness  of  mind  and  soul ; 
A  steady  temper  which  no  cares  control, 
No  passions  ruffle,  no  desires  inflame, 
Still  constant  to  itself,  and  still  the  same. 

Fame. 
A  generous  ardor  boils  within  my  breast, 
Eager  of  action,  enemy  to  rest : 
This  urges  me  to  fight,  and  fires  my  mind 
To  leave  a  memorable  name  behind. 

Self-  Conceit. 

Conceited  thoughts  indulged  without  control. 
Exclude  all  future  knowledge  from  the  soul  ; 
For  he  who  thinks  himself  already  wise, 
Of  course,  all  future  knowledge  will  despise. 

Honor. 

Not  all  the  threats  or  favors  of  a  crown, 
A  prince's  whisper,  or  a  tyrant's  frown, 
Can  awe  the  spirit  or  allure  the  mind 
Of  him  who  to  strict  Honor  is  inclined. 


WEBB'S  FOUKTH  KEADEK.         291 


Swearing. 

Maintain  your  rank  :  vulgarity  despise  : 
To  swear  is  neither  brave,  polite,  nor  wise. 
You  would  not  swear  upon  a  bed  of  death  : 
Reflect :  your  Maker  now  may  stop  your  breath. 

Solitude. 

Thou  gentle  nurse  of  pleasing  woe  ; 

To  thee,  from  crowds,  and  noise,  and  show, 

With  eager  haste  I  fly : 
Thrice  welcome  friendly  Solitude  ! 
Oh  let  no  busy  feet  intrude, 

Nor  listening  ear  be  nigh. 

Thought. 

Whoever  thinks  and  acts  independently,  using  much 
precaution  and  care,  will  become  great,  and  be  esteemed 
by  mankind. 

Hatred. 

Go — and  may  misery  haunt  thee 

From  morn  till  dewy  night — 
And  untold  terrors  daunt  thee 

In  all  thy  dreams  till  light ; 
May  all  thy  hopes  be  smitten, 

Thy  brightest  hours  be  gloom, 
And  infamy  be  written 

In  lightning  on  thy  tomb. 

Kindness. 

I  would  not  enter  on  my  list  of  friends — 

Though  graced  with  polished  manners  and  fine  sense, 

Yet  wanting  sensibility — the  man 

Who  needlessly  sets  foot  upon  a  worm. 


292         WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER. 


Hatred  and  Kindness. 

The  following  lines  were  written  by  Burns  on  seeing 
a  hare  which  was  wounded  by  a  shot : 

Inhuman  man !  curse  on  thy  barb'rous  art, 
And  blasted  be  thy  murder-aiming  eye  ; 
May  never  pity  soothe  thee  with  a  sigh, 

Nor  pleasure  glad  thy  cruel  heart ! 

Go,  live,  poor  wanderer  of  the  wood  and  field, 

The  bitter  little  that  of  life  remains  ; 

No  more  the  thick'ning  brakes  and  verdant  plains 
To  thee  shall  home,  or  food,  or  pastime  yield. 

Seek,  mangled  wretch,  some  place  of  wonted  rest, 
No  more  to  rest,  but  now  thy  dying  bed  ! 
The  sheltering  rushes  whistling  o'er  thy  head, 

The  cold  earth  with  thy  bloody  bosom  prest. 

Oft  as  by  winding  Nith,  I  musing  wait 
The  sober  eve,  or  hail  the  cheerful  dawn, 
I'll  miss  thee  sporting  o'er  the  dewy  lawn, 

And  curse  the  ruffian's  aim,  and  mourn  thy  hapless  fate. 


LESSON   CXXIII. 

THE    WIFE. 

1.  1  have  often  had  occasion  to  remark  the  fortitude 
with  which  woman  sustains  the  most  overwhelming  re- 
verses of  fortune.  Those  disasters  which  break  down 
the  spirit  of  man,  and  prostrate  him  in  the  dust,  seem  to 
call  forth  all  the  energies  of  the  softer  sex,  and  give  such 


WEBB'S  FOUKTH  READER.  293 

intrepidity  and  elevation  to  their  character,  that,  at  times, 
it  approaches  to  sublimity. 

2.  Nothing  can  be  more  touching  than  to  behold  a  soft 
and  tender  female,  who  had  been  all  weakness  and  de- 
pendence, and  alive  to  every  trivial  roughness,  while 
treading  the  prosperous  paths  of  life,  suddenly  rising,  in 
mental  force,  to  be  the  comforter  and  supporter  of  her 
husband  under  misfortunes,  and  abiding,  with  unshrink- 
ing firmness,  the  bitterest  blasts  of  adversity. 

3.  As  the  vine,  which  has  long  twined  its  graceful 
foliage  about  the  oak,  and  been  lifted  by  it  into  sunshine, 
will,  when  the  hardy  plant  is  rifted  by  the  thunderbolt, 
cling  around  it  with  its  caressing  tendrils,  and  bind  up  its 
shattered  boughs  ;  so  is  it  beautifully  ordered  by  Provi- 
dence, that  woman,  who  is  the  mere  dependent  and  or- 
nament of  man  in  his  happier  hours,  should  be  his  stay 
and  solace  when  smitten  with  sudden  calamity — wind- 
ing herself  into  the  rugged  recesses  of  his  nature,  ten- 
derly supporting  the  drooping  head,  and  binding  up  the 
broken  heart. 

4.  These  observations  call  to  mind  a  little  domestic 
story,  of  which  I  was  once  a  witness.  My  intimate 
friend,  Leslie,  had  married  a  beautiful  and  accomplished 
girl,  who  had  been  brought  up  in  the  midst  of  fashion- 
able life.  She  had,  it  is  true,  no  fortune ;  but  that  of 
my  friend  was  ample,  and  he  delighted  in  the  anticipa- 
tion of  indulging  her  in  every  elegant  pursuit,  and  ad- 
ministering to  those  delicate  tastes  and  fancies  that  spread 
a  kind  of  witchery  about  the  sex. 

5.  Never  did  a  couple  set  forward  on  the  flowery  path 
of  early  and  well-suited  marriage  with  a  fairer  prospect 
of  felicity.  It  was  the  misfortune  of  my  friend,  how- 
ever, to  have  embarked  his  property  in  large  specula- 
tions ;  and  he  had  not  been  married  many  months,  when, 
by  a  succession  of  sudden  disasters,  it  was  swept  from 

25* 


294         WEBB'S  FOURTH  EEADEE. 

him,  and  he  found  himself  reduced  to  almost  penury. 
For  a  time,  he  kept  his  situation  to  himself,  and  went 
about  with  a  haggard  countenance  and  a  breaking  heart. 
G.  His  life  was  but  a  protracted  agony  ;  and  what 
rendered  it  more  insupportable,  was  the  necessity  of 
keeping  up  a  smile  in  the  presence  of  his  wife ;  for  he 
could  not  bring  himself  to  overwhelm  her  with  the  news. 
She  saw,  however,  with  the  quick  eye  of  affection,  that 
all  was  not  well  with  him.  She  marked  his  altered  looks 
and  stifled  sighs,  and  was  not  to  be  deceived  by  his 
sickly  and  vapid  attempts  at  cheerfulness.  She  tasked 
all  her  sprightly  powers  and  tender  blandishments  to 
win  him  back  to  happiness;  but  she  only  drove  the  ar- 
row deeper  into  his  soul. 

7.  The  more  he  saw  cause  to  love  her,  the  more  tor- 
turing was  the  thought  that  he  was  soon  to  make  her 
wretched.  "  A  little  while,"  thought  he,  "  and  the  smile 
will  vanish  from  that  cheek  ;  the  song  will  die  away 
from  those  lips  ;  the  luster  of  those  eyes  will  be  quenched 
with  sorrow  ;  and  the  happy  heart  which  now  beats 
lightly  in  that  bosom  will  be  weighed  down,  like  mine, 
by  the  cares  and  miseries  of  the  world." 

8.  At  length  he  came  to  me  one  day,  and  related  his 
whole  situation,  in  a  tone  of  the  deepest  despair.  When 
I  had  heard  him  through,  I  inquired,  "  Does  your  wife 
know  all  this  ?"  At  the  question,  he  burst  into  an  igODJ* 
of  tears.  I  saw  his  grief  was  eloquent,  and  I  let  it  have 
itsflow  ;  for  sorrow  relieves  itself  not  by  words.  When  his 
paroxysm  had  subsided,  and  he  had  relapsed  into  moody 
silence,  I  resumed  the  subject  gently,  and  urged  him  to 
break  his  situation  at  once  to  his  wife. 

9.  "  Believe  me,  my  friend,"  said  I,  stepping  up,  and 
grasping  him  warmly  by  the  hand — "  believe  me,  there 
is  in  every  true  woman's  heart  a  spark  of  heavenly  fire, 
which  lies  dormant  in  the  broad  daylight  of  prosperity, 


WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER.         295 

but  which  kindles  up,  and  beams  and  blazes,  in  the  dark 
hour  of  adversity.  No  man  knows  what  the  wife  of  his 
bosom  is — no  man  knows  what  a  ministering  angel  she 
is — until  he  has  gone  with  her  through  the  fiery  trials  of 
this  world." 

10.  Some  days  afterward,  he  called  upon  me  in  the 
evening.  He  had  disposed  of  his  dwelling-house,  and 
taken  a  small  cottage  in  the  country,  a  few  miles  from 
town.  He  had  been  busied  all  day  in  sending  out  fur- 
niture. The  new  establishment  required  few  articles, 
and  those  of  the  simplest  kind.  All  the  splendid  furni- 
ture of  his  late  residence  had  been  sold,  excepting  his 
wife's  harp. 

11.  He  was  now  going  out  to  the  cottage,  where  his 
wife  had  been  all  day,  superintending  its  arrangement. 
My  feelings  had  become  strongly  interested  in  the  pro- 
gress of  this  family  story,  and,  as  it  was  a  fine  evening, 
I  offered  to  accompany  him. 

12.  He  was  wearied  with  the  fatigue  of  the  day,  and, 
as  we  walked  out,  fell  into  a  fit  of  gloomy  musing. 
"  Poor  Mary !"  at  length  broke,  with  a  heavy  sigh,  from 
his  lips.  "  And  what  of  her  ?"  asked  I ;  "  has  any  thing 
happened  to  her  ?  Has  she  repined  at  the  change  ?" 
"  Repined !  she  has  been  nothing  but  sweetness  and 
good  humor.  Indeed,  she  seems  in  better  spirits  than  I 
have  ever  known  her ;  she  has  been  to  me  all  love,  and 
tenderness,  and  comfort  I" 

13.  "  Admirable  girl !"  exclaimed  I.  "  You  call  your- 
self poor,  my  friend  ;  you  never  was  so  rich  ;  you  never 
knew  the  boundless  treasures  of  excellence  you  pos- 
sessed in  that  woman." 

14.  After  turning  from  the  main  road  up  a  narrow 
lane,  so  thickly  shaded  by  forest  trees  as  to  give  it  a 
complete  air  of  seclusion,  we  came  in  sight  of  the  cot- 
tage.    It  was  humble  enough  in  its  appearance  for  the 


296         WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER. 

most  pastoral  poet ;  and  yet  it  had  a  pleasing,  rural  look. 
A  wild  vine  had  overrun  one  end  with  a  profusion 
of  foliage ;  a  few  trees  threw  their  branches  gracefully- 
over  it ;  and  I  observed  several  pots  of  flowers  taste- 
fully disposed  about  the  door,  and  on  the  grass-plot  in 
front. 

15.  A  small  wicket-gate  opened  upon  a  foot-path,  that 
wound  through  some  shrubbery  to  the  door.  Just  as  we 
approached,  we  heard  the  sound  of  music.  Leslie  grasped 
my  arm  :  we  paused  and  listened.  It  was  Mary's  voice, 
singing,  in  a  style  of  the  most  touching  simplicity,  a  lit- 
tle air  of  which  her  husband  was  peculiarly  fond. 

16.  I  felt  Leslie's  hand  tremble  on  my  arm.  He 
stepped  forward  to  hear  more  distinctly.  His  step  made 
a  noise  on  the  gravel-walk.  A  bright,  beautiful  face 
glanced  out  at  the  window,  and  vanished ;  a  light  foot- 
step was  heard,  and  Mary  came  tripping  forth  to  meet 
us.  She  was  in  a  pretty  rural  dress  of  white ;  a  few 
wild-flowers  were  twisted  in  her  fine  hair;  a  fresh  bloom 
was  on  her  cheek  ;  her  whole  countenance  beamed  with 
smiles.     I  had  never  seen  her  look  so  lovely. 

17.  "  My  dear  George,"  cried  she,  "  I  am  so  glad  you 
are  come!  I  have  been  watching  and  watching  for 
you ;  and  running  down  the  lane,  and  looking  out  for 
you.  I  have  set  out  a  table  under  a  beautiful  tree  behind 
the  cottage,  and  I  have  been  gathering  some  of  the  most 
delicious  strawberries,  for  I  know  you  are  fond  of  them ; 
and  we  have  such  excellent  cream,  and  every  thing  is  so 
sweet  and  still  here.  Oh  !"  said  she,  putting  her  arm 
within  his,  and  looking  up  brightly  in  his  face — "  Oh ! 
we  shall  be  so  happy !" 

18.  Poor  Leslie  was  overcome.  He  caught  her  to  his 
bosom ;  he  folded  his  arms  around  her ;  he  could  not 
speak,  but  the  tears  gushed  into  his  eyes ;  and  he  has 
often  assured  me,  that  though  the  world  has  since  gone 


WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER.         297 

prosperously  with  him,  and  his  life  has  indeed  been  a 

happy  one,  yet  never  has  he  experienced  a  moment  ol 

more  exquisite  felicity. 

Irving. 


LESSON    CXXIV. 

GREEN-WOOD     CEMETERY.* 

1.  Here  are  the  houses  of  the  dead.     Here  youth 
And  age,  and  manhood,  stricken  in  his  strength, 
Hold  solemn  state,  and  awful  silence  keep, 
While  Earth  goes  murmuring  in  her  ancient  path. 
And  troubled  Ocean  tosses  to  and  fro 

Upon  his  mountainous  bed  impatiently, 

And  many  stars  make  worship  musical 

In  the  dim-aisled  abyss,  and  over  all 

The  Lord  of  Life,  in  meditation  sits 

Beneath  the  large  white  dome  of  Immortality. 

2.  Made  quiet  by  the  awe,  I  pause  and  think 
Among  these  walks  lined  with  the  frequent  tombs ; 
For  it  is  very  wonderful.     Afar 

The  populous  city  lifts  its  tall,  bright  spires, 

And  snowy  sails  are  glancing  on  the  bay, 

As  if  in  merriment — but  here  all  sleep  ; 

They  sleep,  these  calm,  pale  people  of  the  past : 

Spring  plants  her  rosy  feet  on  their  dim  homes — 

They  sleep ! — Sweet  Summer  comes  and  calls,  and  calls 

With  all  her  passionate  poetry  of  flowers 

Wed  to  the  music  of  the  soft  south  wind — 

They  sleep  ! — The  lonely  Autumn  sits  and  sobs 

Between  the  cold  white  tombs,  as  if  her  heart 


L 


*  Brooklyn,  N.  Y. 


298         WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER. 

Would    break — they  sleep  ! — Wild    Winter    comes   and 

chants 
Majestical  the  mournful  sagas  learn'd 
Far  in  the  melancholy  North,  where  God 
Walks  forth  alone  upon  the  desolate  seas — 
They  slumber  still :  Sleep  on,  O  passionless  dead  : 
Ye  make  our  world  sublime  :  ye  have  a  power 
And  majesty  the  living  never  hold. 

3.  Here  Avarice  shall  forget  his  den  of  gold  ! 
Here  Lust  his  beautiful  victim,  and  hot  Hate 
His  crouching  foe.     Ambition  here  shall  lean 
Against  Death's  shaft,  veiling  the  stern,  bright  eye 
That,  over-bold,  would  take  the  hight  of  gods, 
And  know  Fame's  nothingness.     The  sire  shall  come 
The  matron  and  the  child,  through  many  years, 

To  this  fair  spot,  whether  the  plumed  hearse 

Moves  slowly  through  the  winding  walks,  or  Death 

For  a  brief  moment  pauses  :  all  shall  come 

To  feel  the  touching  eloquence  of  graves  : 

And  therefore  it  was  well  for  us  to  clothe 

The  place  with  beauty.     No  dark  terror  here 

Shall  chill  the  generous  tropic  of  the  soul, 

But  Poetry  and  her  starry  comrade  Art 

Shall  make  the  sacred  country  of  the  dead 

Magnificent. 

4.  The  fragrant  flowers  shall  smile 
Over  the  low,  green  graves  ;  the  trees  shall  shake 
Their  soul-like  cadences  upon  the  tombs  ; 

The  little  lake,  set  in  a  paradise 

Of  wood,  shall  be  a  mirror  to  the  moon 

What  time  she  looks  from  her  imperial  tent 

In  long  delight  at  all  below ;  the  sea 

Shall  lift  some  stately  dirge  he  loves  to  breathe 

Over  dead  nations,  while  calm  sculptures  stand 

On  every  hill,  and  look  like  spirits  there 


WEBB'S  EOTJBTH  KEADER.  299 

That  drink  the  harmony.     Oh,  it  is  well ! 
Why  should  a  darkness  scowl  on  any  spot 
Where  man  grasps  immortality  ?     Light,  light, 
And  art,  and  poetry,  and  eloquence, 
And  all  that  we  call  glorious,  are  its  dower. 

5.  Oh,  ye  whose  moldering  frames  were  brought  and  placed 
By  pious  hands  within  these  flowery  slopes 

And  gentle  hills,  where  are  ye  dwelling  now  ? 

For  man  is  more  than  element.     The  soul 

Lives  in  the  body  as  the  sunbeam  lives 

In  trees  or  flowers  that  were  but  clay  without. 

Then  where  are  ye,  lost  sunbeams  of  the  mind  ? 

Are  ye  where  great  Orion  towers  and  holds 

Eternity  on  his  stupendous  front  ? 

Or  where  pale  Neptune  in  the  distant  space 

Shows  us  how  far,  in  His  creative  mood, 

With  pomp  of  silence  and  concentered  brows, 

The  Almighty  walked  ?     Or  haply  ye  have  gone 

Where  other  matter  roundeth  into  shapes 

Of  bright  beatitude  :  or  do  ye  know 

Aught  of  dull  space  or  time,  and  its  dark  load 

Of  aching  weariness  ? 

6 ,  They  answer  not. 
But  He  whose  love  created  them  of  old, 
To  cheer  His  solitary  realm  and  reign, 
With  love  will  still  remember  them. 

William  Ross  Wallacb. 

1.  Cem'  e  ter  y,  a  -place for  burying  the  dead. 

2.  Sa/  ga,  the  general  name  of  ancient  compositions  which  relate  to 
the  history  or  mythology  of  the  northern  European  races. 


300         WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER. 


LESSON  CXXV. 

[Extract*  of  remarks  made,  April  1,  1850,  In  the  Senate  of  the  United  States,  on  the 
death  of  John  C.  Calhoun,  by  Henry  Clay  and  Daniel  Webster.] 

CLAY. 

1.  Sir,  he  has  gone!  No  more  shall  we  witness, 
from  yonder  seat,  the  flashes  of  that  keen  and  penetrat- 
ing eye  of  his  darting  through  this  chamber ;  no  more 
shall  we  behold  that  torrent  of  clear,  concise,  compact 
logic  poured  out  from  his  lips,  which,  if  it  did  not  always 
carry  conviction  to  our  judgment,  commanded  our  great 
admiration.  Those  eyes  and  those  lips  are  closed  for- 
ever ! 

2.  And  when,  Mr.  President,  will  that  great  vacancy, 
which  has  been  created  by  the  event  to  which  we  are 
now  alluding — when  will  it  be  filled  by  an  equal  amount 
of  ability,  patriotism,  and  devotion  to  what  he  con- 
ceived to  be  the  best  interests  of  his  country  ? 

3.  Sir,  this  is  not  the  appropriate  occasion,  nor  would 
I  be  the  appropriate  person,  to  attempt  a  delineation  of 
his  character,  or  the  powers  of  his  enlightened  mind.  I 
will  only  say,  in  a  few  words,  that  he  possessed  an  ele- 
vated genius  of  the  highest  order ;  that  in  felicity  of 
generalization  of  the  subjects  of  which  his  mind  treated, 
I  have  seen  him  surpassed  by  no  one ;  and  the  charm 
and  captivating  influence  of  his  colloquial  powers  have 
been  felt  by  all  who  have  conversed  with  him.  I  was 
his  senior,  Mr.  President,  in  years  :  in  nothing  else. 
According  to  the  course  of  nature,  I  ought  to  have  pre- 
ceded him.  It  has  been  decreed  otherwise  ;  but  I  know 
that  I  shall  linger  here  only  a  short  time,  and  shall  soon 
follow  him. 

4.  How  brief,  how  short  is  the  period  of  human  exist- 


WEBB'S  EOUKTH  KEADEPw.  301 

ence  allotted  even  to  the  youngest  among  us!  Sir, 
ought  we  not  to  profit  by  the  contemplation  of  this  mel- 
ancholy occasion  ?  *  *  *  I  trust  we  shall  all  be 
instructed  by  the  eminent  virtues  and  merits  of  Mr. 
Calhoun's  exalted  character,  and  be  taught,  by  his 
bright  example,  to  fulfill  our  great  public  duties  by  the 
lights  of  our  own  judgments,  and  the  dictates  of  our 
own  consciences,  faithfully  and  to  the  last. 


WEBSTER. 

5.  Mr.  President,  he  had  the  basis,  the  indispensable 
basis,  of  all  high  character ;  and  that  was,  unspotted  in- 
tegrity, unimpeached  honor  and  motives.  If  he  had  as- 
pirations, they  were  high,  and  honorable,  and  noble. 
There  was  nothing  groveling,  or  low,  or  meanly  selfish, 
that  came  near  the  head  or  the  heart  of  John  C.  Calhoun. 

6.  Firm  in  his  purpose,  perfectly  patriotic  and  honest, 
as  I  am  sure  he  was,  in  the  principles  that  he  espoused, 
and  in  the  measures  that  he  defended,  aside  from  that 
species  of  distinction  that  conducted  him  to  eminent  sta- 
tions for  the  benefit  of  the  republic,  I  do  not  believe  he 
had  a  selfish  motive  or  selfish  feeling. 

7.  However,  sir,  he  may  have  differed  from  others  of 
us  in  his  political  opinions  or  his  political  principles, 
those  principles  and  those  opinions  will  now  descend  to 
posterity,  under  the  sanction  of  a  great  name.  He  has 
lived  so  long,  and  has  acted  his  part  so  well,  so  success- 
fully, and  so  honorably,  as  to  connect  himself,  for  all  time, 
with  the  record  of  his  country.  He  is  now  a  historical 
character. 

8.  Those  who  have  known  him  here  will  find  that  he 
has  left  upon  our  hearts  a  strong  and  lasting  impression 
of  his  person,  his  character,  and  his  public  performance, 

20 


302         WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER. 

which,  while  we  live,  will  never  be  obliterated.  We 
shall  hereafter,  I  am  sure,  indulge  in  it  as  a  grateful  rec- 
ollection that  we  have  lived  in  his  age,  that  we  have 
been  his  cotemporaries,  that  we  have  seen  him,  and 
heard  him,  and  known  him. 

9.  We  shall  delight  to  speak  of  him  to  those  who  are 
rising  up  to  fill  our  places ;  and  when  the  time  shall 
come  that  we  ourselves  shall  go,  one  after  another,  in 
succession  to  our  graves,  we  shall  carry  with  us  a  deep 
sense  of  his  genius  and  character,  his  honor  and  integ- 
rity, his  amiable  deportment  in  private  life,  and  the  purity 
of  his  exalted  patriotism. 


LESSON   CXXVI.     . 

AN    ADDRESS    TO    YOUNG    PERSONS. 

1.  I  intend,  in  this  address,  to  show  you  the  import- 
ance of  beginning  early  to  give  serious  attention  to  your 
conduct.  As  soon  as  you  are  capable  of  reflection,  you 
must  perceive  that  there  is  a  right  and  a  wrong  in  human 
actions.  You  see,  that  those  who  are  born  with  the 
same  advantages  of  fortune,  are  not  all  equally  prosper- 
ous in  the  course  of  life.  While  some  of  them,  by  wise 
and  steady  conduct,  attain  distinction  in  the  world,  and 
pass  their  days  with  comfort  and  honor,  others  of  the 
same  rank,  by  mean  and  vicious  behavior,  forfeit  the  ad- 
vantages of  their  birth,  involve  themselves  in  much 
misery,  and  end  in  being  a  disgrace  to  their  friends,  and 
a  burden  on  society. 

2.  Early,  then,  may  you  learn,  that  it  is  not  on  the  ex- 
ternal condition  in  which  you  find  yourselves  placed,  but 
on  the  part  which  you  are  to  act,  that  your  welfare  or 


WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER.         303 

imhappiness,  your  honor  or  infamy,  depends.  Now, 
when  beginning  to  act  that  part,  what  can  be  of  greater 
moment,  than  to  regulate  your  plan  of  conduct  with  the 
most  serious  attention,  before  you  have  yet  committed 
any  fatal  or  irretrievable  errors  ? 

3.  If,  instead  of  exerting  reflection  for  this  valuable 
purpose,  you  deliver  yourselves  up,  at  so  critical  a  time, 
to  sloth  and  pleasures  ;  if  you  refuse  to  listen  to  any 
counselor  but  humor,  or  to  attend  to  any  pursuit  except 
that  of  amusement ;  if  you  allow  yourselves  to  float  loose 
and  careless  on  the  tide  of  life,  ready  to  receive  any 
direction  which  the  current  of  fashion  may  chance  to 
give  you  ;  what  can  you  expect  to  follow  from  such  be- 
ginnings ? 

4.  While  so  many  around  you  are  undergoing  the  sad 
consequences  of  a  like  indiscretion,  for  what  reason  shall 
not  those  consequences  extend  to  you  ?  Shall  you  at- 
tain success  without  that  preparation,  and  escape  dan- 
gers without  that  precaution,  which  are  required  of 
others  ?  Shall  happiness  grow  up  to  you,  of  its  own  ac- 
cord, and  solicit  your  acceptance,  when,  to  the  rest  of 
mankind,  it  is  the  fruit  of  long  cultivation,  and  the  ac- 
quisition of  labor  and  care  ? 

5.  Deceive  not  yourselves  with  those  arrogant  hopes. 
Whatever  be  your  rank,  Providence  will  not,  for  your 
sake,  reverse  its  established  order.  The  Author  of  your 
being  hath  enjoined  you  to  "  take  heed  to  your  ways  ; 
to  ponder  the  paths  of  your  feet ;  to  remember  your  Cre- 
ator in  the  days  of  your  youth." 

6.  He  hath  decreed,  that  they  only  "  who  seek  after 
wisdom  shall  find  it ;  that  fools  shall  be  afflicted,  because 
of  their  transgressions  ;  and  that  whoever  refuseth  in- 
struction, shall  destroy  his  own  soul."  By  listening  to 
these  admonitions,  and  tempering  the  vivacity  of  youth 
with  a  proper  mixture  of  serious  thought,  you  may  in- 


304  webb's  fourth  header. 

sure  cheerfulness  for  the  rest  of  life  ;  but  by  delivering 
yourselves  up  at  present  to  giddiness  and  levity,  you  lay 
the  foundation  of  lasting  heaviness  of  heart. 

7.  When  you  look  forward  to  those  plans  of  life,  which 
either  your  circumstances  have  suggested,  or  your  friends 
have  proposed,  you  will  not  hesitate  to  acknowledge,  that 
in  order  to  pursue  them  with  advantage,  some  p-evious 
discipline  is  requisite.  Be  assured,  that  whatever  is  to 
be  your  profession,  no  education  is  more  necessary  to 
your  success  than  the  acquirement  of  virtuous  disposi- 
tions and  habits.  This  is  the  universal  preparation  for 
every  character  and  every  station  in  life. 

8.  Bad  as  the  world  is,  respect  is  always  paid  to  vir- 
tue. In  the  usual  course  of  human  affairs,  it  will  be  found 
that  a  plain  understanding,  joined  with  acknowledged 
worth,  contributes  more  to  prosperity  than  the  brightest 
parts,  without  probity  or  honor.  Whether  science,  or 
business,  or  public  life  be  your  aim,  virtue  still  enters 
for  a  principal  share  into  all  those  great  departments 
of  society.  It  is  connected  with  eminence,  in  every 
liberal  art ;  with  reputation,  in  every  branch  of  fair 
and  useful  business  ;  with  distinction,  in  every  public 
station. 

9.  The  vigor  which  it  gives  the  mind,  and  the  weight 
which  it  adds  to  character  ;  the  generous  sentiments 
which  it  breathes  ;  the  undaunted  spirit  which  it  inspires; 
the  ardor  of  diligence  which  it  quickens ;  the  freedom 
which  it  procures  from  pernicious  and  dishonorable  avo- 
cations ;  are  the  foundations  of  all  that  is  highly  honor- 
able or  greatly  successful  among  men. 

10.  Whatever  ornamental  or  engaging  endowments 
you  now  possess,  virtue  is  a  necessary  requisite,  in  order 
to  their  shining  with  proper  luster.  Feeble  are  the  at- 
tractions of  the  fairest  form,  if  it  be  suspected  that  nothing 
within  corresponds  to  the  pleasing  appearance  without. 


WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER.         305 

Short  are  the  triumphs  of  wit,  when  it  is  supposed  to  be 
the  vehicle  of  malice. 

11.  By  whatever  means  you  may  at  first  attract  the 
attention,  you  can  hold  the  esteem,  and  secure  the  hearts 
of  others,  only  by  amiable  dispositions  and  the  accom- 
plishments of  the  mind.  These  are  the  qualities  whose 
influence  will  last,  when  the  luster  of  all  that  once 
sparkled  and  dazzled  has  passed  away. 

12.  Let  not,  then,  the  season  of  youth  be  barren  of 
improvements,  so  essential  to  your  future  felicity  and 
honor.  Now  is  the  seed-time  of  life,  and  according  to 
"  what  you  sow,  you  shall  reap."  Your  character  is  now, 
under  Divine  assistance,  of  your  own  forming  ;  your  fate 
is,  in  some  measure,  put  into  your  own  hands. 

13.  Your  nature  is,  as  yet,  pliant  and  soft.  Habits 
have  not  established  their  dominion.  Prejudices  have 
not  preoccupied  your  understanding.  The  world  has 
not  had  time  to  contract  and  debase  your  affections. 
All  your  powers  are  more  vigorous,  disembarrassed,  and 
free,  than  they  will  be  at  any  future  period. 

14.  Whatever  impulse  you  now  give  to  your  desires 
and  passions,  the  direction  is  likely  to  continue.  It  will 
form  the  channel  in  which  your  life  is  to  run ;  nay,  it 
may  determine  its  everlasting  issue.  Consider,  then,  the 
employment  of  this  important  period  as  the  highest  trust 
which  shall  ever  be  committed  to  you,  as,  in  a  great  mea- 
sure, decisive  of  your  happiness  in  time  and  in  eternity. 

15.  As  in  the  succession  of  the  seasons,  each,  by  the 
invariable  laws  of  nature,  affects  the  productions  of  what 
is  next  in  course  ;  so,  in  human  life,  every  period  of  our 
age,  according  as  it  is  well  or  ill  spent,  influences  the 
happiness  of  that  which  is  to  follow.  Virtuous  youth 
gradually  brings  forward  accomplished  and  flourishing 
manhood  ;  and  such  manhood  passes  of  itself,  without 
uneasiness,  into  respectable  and  tranquil  old  age. 

26* 


306         WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER. 

10.  But  when  nature  is  turned  out  of  its  regular 
course,  disorder  takes  place  in  the  moral,  just  as  in  the 
vegetable  world.  If  the  spring  put  forth  no  blossoms, 
in  summer  there  will  be  no  beauty,  and  in  autumn  no 
fruit ;  so,  if  youth  be  trifled  away  without  improvement, 
manhood  will  probably  be  contemptible,  and  old  age 
miserable.  If  the  beginnings  of  life  have  been  "vanity," 
its  latter  end  can  scarcely  be  any  other  than  "  vexation 
of  spirit." 

17.  I  shall  finish  this  address  with  calling  your  atten- 
tion to  that  dependence  on  the  blessing  of  Heaven, 
which,  amid  all  your  endeavors  after  improvement, 
you  ought  continually  to  preserve.  It  is  too  common 
with  the  young,  even  when  they  resolve  to  tread  the 
path  of  virtue  and  honor,  to  set  out  with  presumptuous 
confidence  in  themselves. 

18.  Trusting  to  their  own  abilities  for  carrying  them 
successfully  through  life,  they  are  careless  of  applying  to 
God,  or  of  deriving  any  assistance  from  what  they  are 
apt  to  reckon  the  gloomy  discipline  of  religion.  Alas ! 
how  little  do  they  know  the  dangers  which  await  them  ! 
Neither  human  wisdom,  nor  human  virtue,  unsupported 
by  religion,  is  equal  to  the  trying  situations  which  often 
occur  in  life. 

19.  By  the  shock  of  temptation,  how  frequently  nave 
the  most  virtuous  intentions  been  overthrown !  Under 
the  pressure  of  disaster,  how  often  has  the  greatest  con 
stancy  sunk !  u  Every  good  and  every  perfect  gift  is 
from  above."  Wisdom  and  virtue,  as  well  as  "  riches 
and  honor,  come  from  God."  Destitute  of  His  favor,  you 
are  in  no  better  situation,  with  all  your  boasted  abilities, 
than  orphans  left  to  wander  in  a  trackless  desert,  with- 
out any  guide  to  conduct  them,  or  any  shelter  to  cover 
them  from  the  gathering  storm. 

20.  Correct,  then,  this  ill-founded  arrogance.     Expect 


WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER. 


307 


not  that  your  happiness  can  be  independent  of  Him  who 
made  you.  By  faith  and  repentance,  apply  to  the  Re- 
deemer of  the  world.  By  piety  and  prayer,  seek  the 
protection  of  the  God  of  heaven. 

21.  I  conclude  with  the  solemn  words,  in  which  a 
great  prince  delivered  his  dying  charge  to  his  son — 
words  which  every  young  person  ought  to  consider  as 
addressed  to  himself;  and  to  engrave  deeply  on  his  heart : 
"  Solomon,  my  son,  know  thou  the  God  of  thy  fathers, 
and  serve  Him  with  a  perfect  heart  and  with  a  willing 
mind  ;  for  the  Lord  searcheth  all  hearts,  and  understand- 
eth  all  the  imaginations  of  the  thoughts.  If  thou  seek 
Him,  He  will  be  found  of  thee  ;  but  if  thou  forsake  Him, 

He  will  cast  thee  off  forever." 

Blaie. 


THE  CHILD'S  PORTRAIT. 


LUCY  A.  RANDALL. 


What    is      that     bo     soft       and       love    -    ly,      Shad-ow'd  forth     in 


life  -  like    lines,      That     a  -  wakes  a        moth  -  er's       sor    -     row 


^^3ffS 


In        her       spir   -  it's        sa  -  cred  shrine,—  Weep  -  ing  o'er     the 


Wz:P *-F-FH — ; — — Ff-F — *-r— FT 


hopes  de-part  -  ed,    Lone  and  sad  and     weary  -  heart-ed ;  Joys   that  glitter'd, 


308 


WESB'S  FOURTH  READER. 


£=fe£i 


SS 


Now      im-bit  -  ter'd,   By   the  i  -  cy    hand  of  Death  ?   To  that  pow'r  that 


retard. 


m 


w^m 


v     i 

spares     no        vie     -     tim,     He     has    yield -ed       up       his    breath. 


Lines  Suggested  by  the  Daguerreotype  Likeness  of  a  Deceased  Child. 

u  Among  the  recollected  dead,  there  are  some  over  whose  beloved  face  oblivion  can 
never  draw  their  shrouds ;  nor  would  we  have  them  hidden — dear,  pleasant,  and  con- 
solatory—inasmuch as  from  their  remembered  features  are  now  reflected  some  few 
rays  of  His  glory,  in  whose  presence  their  souls  are  standing."— Martyria. 

1.  What  is  that  so  soft  and  lovely, 

Shadowed  forth  in  life-like  lines, 
That  awakes  the  mother's  sorrow, 

In  her  spirit's  sacred  shrine, — 
Weeping  o'er  the  hopes  departed, 
Lone,  and  sad,  and  weary-hearted, — 
Joys  that  glittered, 
Now  imbittered, 

By  the  icy  hand  of  Death  ? 
To  that  power  that  spares  no  victim, 

He  has  yielded  up  his  breath. 

2.  In  his  angel  sweetness  pictured, 

Beautiful,  and  soft,  and  meek, 
Golden  curls  are  wandering  brightly 

O'er  his  pale  and  lovely  cheek ; 
Flowers  around  his  white  arm  twining 
Saint-like  he  is  there  reclining. 
Cease  thy  weeping, 
He  is  sleeping, 

But  to  wake  in  realms  of  light, 
There  to  join  the  notes  celestial, 

Sung  by  angels  robed  in  white. 


"WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER.  309 

3.  He  was  but  a  spirit  angel, 

Sent  to  earth  to  dwell  awhile ; 
Ye  might  trace  his  home  immortal 

In  the  beauty  of  his  smile — 
In  his  spirit  upward  tending, 
Heaven  and  earth  together  blending. 
So  he  parted, 
Yet  pure  hearted, 

From  the  scenes  of  bitter  woe, 
To  the  land  where  grief  can  come  not — 

Where  the  living  waters  flow. 

4.  Therefore  weep  not,  mourning  mother, 

He  has  passed  from  earthly  care, 
From  the  world  of  dark  temptation, 

From  the  scenes  of  sad  despair ; 
From  the  grief  that  stayeth  never, 
He  has  parted,  and  forever ; 
White  wings  gleaming, 
Love -looks  beaming, 

Welcome  him  to  realms  of  joy : 
In  that  land  of  bliss  immortal, 

Thou  shalt  meet  thine  angel  boy. 

Note. — The  merit  of  the  above  poetry,  by  Miss  Randall  (daughter  of  S. 
S.  Randall),  does  not  suffer  by  comparison  with  the  productions  of  our 
most  celebrated  poets,  at  a  similar  age.    Miss  R.  is  but  thirteen  years  old 


310 


WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER. 


THE  OLD  OAKEN  BUCKET. 


too  fast. 


:*t=i 


How      dear     to     my    heart  are  the     scenes   of    my    child-hood,  When 
The       orch  -  ard,  the    mead  -  ow,  the     deep  -  tan-gled  wild  -  wood,  And 
The        old     oak  -  en   buck  -  et,   the        i    -   ron-bound  buck  -  et,    The 

Fine. 


& 


i — T^ 


fond        rec  -  ol    -    lee   -    tion       pre    -    sents      them    to 
ev    -    ery     loved  spot     which     my  in     -     fan  -  cy 

moss  -  cov  -  erM     buck   -  et,     which      hung        in      the 


view- 
knew; 
welll 


Solo. 


ggs^^g 


£ 


:E 


£=^ 


The      wide-spread-ing   pond,  and    the 
The       cot     of     my      fa  -  ther,  the 


mill  which  stood  by     it,    The 
dai  -  ry  -  house  nigh  it,    And 

DC 


1.  How  dear  to  my  heart  are  the  scenes  of  my  childhood, 

When  fond  recollection  presents  them  to  view — 
The  orchard,  the  meadow,  the  deep-tangled  wildwood, 

And  every  loved  spot  which  my  infancy  knew  ; 
The  wide-spreading  pond,  and  the  mill  which  stood  by  it, 

The  bridge,  and  the  rock  where  the  cataract  fell  ; 
The  cot  of  my  father,  the  dairy-house  nigh  it, 

And  e'en  the  rude  bucket  which  hung  in  the  well: 
The  old  oaken  bucket,  the  iron-bound  bucket, 
The  moss-covered  bucket,  which  hung  in  the  well ! 

2.  That  moss-covered  vessel  I  hail  as  a  treasure  ; 

For  often  at  noon,  when  returned  from  the  field, 
I  found  it  the  source  of  an  exquisite  pleasure — 
The  purest  and  sweetest  that  nature  can  yield. 


WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER. 


311 


How  ardent  I  seized  it,  with  hands  that  were  glowing, 
And  quick  to  the  white-pebbled  bottom  it  fell, 

Then  soon,  with  the  emblem  of  truth  overflowing, 
And  dripping  with  coolness,  it  rose  from  the  well : 

The  old  oaken  bucket,  the  iron-bound  bucket, 

The  moss-covered  bucket,  arose  from  the  well ! 

3,  How  sweet  from  the  green  mossy  brim  to  receive  it, 

As,  poised  on  the  curb,  it  inclined  to  my  lips  ! 
Not  a  full,  blushing  goblet  could  tempt  me  to  leave  it, 

Though  filled  with  the  nectar  that  Jupiter  sips. 
And  now,  far  removed  from  the  loved  situation, 

The  tear  of  regret  wiU  intrusively  swell, 
As  fancy  reverts  to  my  father's  plantation, 

And  sighs  for  the  bucket  which  hangs  in  the  well : 
The  old  oaken  bucket,  the  iron-bound  bucket, 
The  moss-covered  bucket,  which  hangs  in  the  well ! 

Samuel  Woodworth. 


THE  OLD  CLOCK  ON  THE  STAIRS. 
(From  "  Woodbury's  Youth's  Song  Book,"  by  permission.) 
Energetic.  !•  B.  WOODBURY. 

&_Pi IS  .  IS 


Some -what     back  from  the     vil-lage  street,        Stands  the  old  -  fash-ion'd 


mmmmfm^f 


coun  -  try  seat ;  A  -  cross  its    an-tique    port  -  i  -  co    Tall     pop-lar  trees  their 

*      [*      f*  ,    ■   N      N      N    _N  ,       h      fr_  jS_.fi  , 


shadows  throw;  And  from  its    sta-tion      in   the  hall,   An     an-cient  time-piece 

ft  TV 

f      f 


Si      _— N £.__*_> fi      ft       .     K      > I    ,  .  I  N 


says   to     all— "For  -ev-er,       nev-er!       nev-er,      for    -    ev  •  er! 


312  WEBB'S  FOURTH  READER. 

1.  Somewhat  back  from  the  village  street 
Stands  the  old-fashioned  country  seat ; 
Across  its  antique  portico 

Tall  poplar  trees  their  shadows  throw  ; 
And  from  its  station  in  the  hall, 
An  ancient  time-piece  says  to  all, 
"  Forever,  never ! — never,  forever  !" 

2.  By  day,  its  voice  is  low  and  light ; 
But  in  the  silent  dead  of  night, 
Distinct  as  passing  footsteps  fall, 
It  echoes  'long  the  vacant  hall — 
Along  the  ceiling,  'long  the  floor — 
And  seems  to  say  at  chamber-door, 

"  Forever,  never ! — never,  forever !" 

3.  There  groups  of  merry  children  played ; 
There  youths  and  maidens  dreaming  strayed ; 
Oh,  precious  hours !  Oh,  golden  prime, 
And  affluence,  love,  and  olden  time  ! 

E'en  as  a  miser  counts  his  gold, 
Those  hours  the  ancient  time-piece  told — 
"  Forever,  never ! — never,  forever !" 

4.  All  are  scattered  now  and  fled  ; 
Some  are  married,  some  are  dead  ; 
And  when  I  ask,  with  throbs  of  pain, 

"  Ah  !  when  shall  they  e'er  meet  again, 
As  in  the  days  long  since  gone  by?  ' 
The  ancient  time-piece  makes  reply — 
"  Forever,  never  ! — never,  forever !" 

5.  Never  here,  forever  there, 
Where  all  parting,  pain,  and  care, 

And  Death  and  Time,  shall  disappear, — 
Forever  there,  but  never  here  ! 
The  horologe  of  Eternity 
Sayeth  this  incessantly, — 

"  Forever,  never  !— never,  forever !" 


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